Flip the Switch
by Mad Hatter - J
Summary: When Juice's childhood friend arrives on the west coast, bringing with them a unique skill-set that might just prove useful to the club, he must find a way to separate old feelings from his duty to the Reaper.
1. Chapter 1: Frankie

_Hello, new readers and faithful followers. Those of you who are familiar with my fiction will know that I have a terrible habit of starting new stories before just as quickly flittering away to other projects. I begged myself to not fall into that trap while binge watching_ Sons of Anarchy _recently_ , _yet here we are; the first chapter as I venture my way into yet another fandom. As I tend to do when first starting out a new fic series, I have been scoping out the other stories posted under the tag, and have noticed a running trend in the OCs. My OCs have a tendency to pick me, so in this case they also carry a few similar traits to pre-existing OCs – but I like to make sure my stories bring something new to the table, (or in this case, bring something new to Church). No promises, though. I'm treating this chapter as a sort of pilot. It's an intro to a number of concepts that I'd like to explore further as I weave my OC through the SOA storyline. I'd love to hear your thoughts._

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **FRANKIE  
**

The heavy thud of wood on wood echoed through the Chapel, sounding yet another unanimous vote on the escalating gun situation. Clay leaned back in his seat at the head of the table and breathed a contented sigh; things were all always so much easier when the club members were on the same page. Even Jax had been putting up less of an argument over things lately, though Clay was certain the kid only ever did that to test his leadership, waiting for the day he would finally take up the gavel.

Chatter began to build in the room as the members of SAMCRO felt the meeting drawing to a close, playful quips and the occasional burst of laughter thrown around as if to celebrate the increasingly rare moment of harmony amongst the group. Juice watched his president from a few seats down, quietly getting a read on the man's mood tonight. Clay had always been a reliable leader for the Sons, but his temper was notoriously erratic, and he was not about to put himself in the line of fire for something that could wait. But tonight things appeared to be in his favor. Clay was grinning as he smoked one of his cigars, eyes distant as he considered the next steps in this gun-running takeover. Well, it was now or never.

"Hey, guys. Uh, since we're all here, I thought I'd put something forward to the table."

He had to raise his voice slightly just to be heard above the raucous babble, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Clay's eyes had flicked over to him the minute he'd opened his mouth, curious what the newest patched member of the club had to announce – not that he planned on taking it too seriously. As the club's designated intelligence officer, Juice had a knack for hacking and gathering whatever information they needed, but he wasn't exactly an ideas man. As far as Clay was concerned the kid was good for grunt work, and his obvious abandonment issues made him faithful to his reaper-clad brothers – that was what really mattered. You didn't have to be smart to wear the reaper, merely loyal. Besides, it was usually the smart ones who stirred shit up, asking all sorts of questions and making 'suggestions' – people like Jax. And Clay sure as shit didn't need another one like him at the table.

"Guys, guys, quieten down, Juicy has something to say," Tig began, but he could barely contain his amusement at the idea of the pothead having something important to propose, laughter punctuating the end of his of his sentence. Juice waited patiently for the teasing to die down, but just as he seemed to have his brothers' attention, a comment from Chibs had them off again. Clay was quick to catch the flicker of doubt in the youngster's eyes. He had taken Juice into the club when the boy had nowhere else to go; sponsored him through his twelve months as a prospect. Though the lads liked to tease him as the baby brother of their tight-knit little family, the kid had a good heart, and he had to admit, Juice had brought them a few good propositions before. The club president raised his hand and the room quickly settled down.

"What is it, kid?"

Looking uncomfortable under the sudden flood of attention, Juice glanced around, a nervous smile playing at his lips.

"Uh, a friend of mine arrived back in town recently," he began, "I think you guys should meet them."

"Aw, Juicy, if you wanted to introduce us to your boyfriend, all you had to do was ask," Tig teased. Juice nodded to himself, as if expecting the comment, while chuckles sounded around him.

Chibs clapped him on the shoulder, encouraging him to continue, knowing how the teasing could dishearten the boy; the gesture reminding him that it was all in good fun.

"Who's this friend?" Clay said, leaning forward out of newfound interest.

"We grew up together. I trust them. I think they could be a good asset to the club, you know. Help us out when we need it."

"Help how?" Jax jumped in, suddenly curious about the mystery contact.

"Information, for one."

"Ain't that what we got you for, Juicy?" Clay asked.

"Yeah, but I mean, like, the kind of information that's beyond even me."

"You mean like basic literacy?" Tig joked. The younger member took it in his stride.

"This friend of yours some kind of rat?"

The moment Clay posed the question, despite the man aiming for a playful tone, Juice began to feel himself losing ground. There was an underlying edge to the man's voice that he didn't like.

"No, no. Uh, more like a mercenary."

That got their attention.

"You're friends with a mercenary?" Piney asked from towards the end of the table, narrowing his eyes at the idea of such an unlikely pairing. The boy nodded with a more confident smile, looking almost proud.

"Yeah."

"We're talking legit mercenary, though, right?" Tig butted in, "Not as in 'dresses up on the weekend for conventions' kind of mercenary."

Most of the men smirked at the reference to their hacker's geekier side of life, while Juice tensed his jaw. Tig just seemed to have it out for him today. He had made a _tiny_ mistake on their last run together that had landed the older man with a Mayan fist to the face…but surely he was over that, even with the evidence of that foray into stupidity still darkening the patch of skin below his eye.

"No. More like 'trained in the US Marines, served in Afghanistan, and spent their last tour of duty stationed at Guantanamo'."

This sparked renewed interest in the veterans around the table.

"Guantanamo, eh?" Clay mused, puffing on his cigar. "What the hell were they doin' there?"

"Like I said. Information."

As men who had spilled their fair share of blood – both their own and their enemies' – this reply needed no further explanation. Guantanamo Bay was a place notorious for its 'unique' methods of gathering intel. Meeting someone with firsthand experience in the process could prove interesting, even if just for novelty's sake.

"Ain't that what we got Happy for?" Bobby said.

"Yeah, I think we've all got our ways of getting whatever information it is we're needin', Juicy Boy. Why should we be payin' some outsider to do it for us?" Chibs added.

Juice could see he was losing the crowd, but then he hadn't really been expecting much to begin with. As a club, they took care of their own business, only calling in outside help when absolutely necessary, and even then they already had a number of reliable contacts for that purpose. Finally, he gave a resigned sigh, nodding his defeat.

"Alright. It was just a suggestion. See if I couldn't get a little business thrown their way."

"You owe them money or something?" Bobby asked. Being the club secretary, the mere hint of a member's indebtedness sent up a red flag to him for a future problem.

"No, nothing like that," Juice assured him with an awkward smile, an eyebrow quirking in brief offence. "Just, you know, helpin' out a friend."

The oddly obligated nature of the kid's request had struck Clay in a similar manner. He exchanged a look with his VP. The last thing they needed on top of all their distribution problems was some petty beef over unpaid pot, or whatever the hell the kid had managed to get himself into. It would be better to check it out than let it rear its head during a less than opportune moment.

"Alright. We'll meet this 'mercenary' friend o' yours," Clay agreed, ignoring the sudden looks from his brothers around the table. Regardless of the outcome, he did enjoy swapping good war stories with fellow vets. Even their latest prospect, Half-Sack, after a single tour of duty, had passed on his share – the reason for his nickname seeming to be his personal favorite.

A new light seemed to spark behind Juice's eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah," Jax smiled, "Find out a time and a place, brother. Set us up a meet."

Even if it did turn out that he was telling the truth, and he really did have a dangerous ex-marine in his back-pocket, the club could always use another friendly contact in these uncertain times.

* * *

"This the place?" Clay called to Juice over the roar of their Harleys, as they closed in on a deserted-looking building. The property was set on an isolated stretch of land, the dirt road leading up to it so small they had missed the turn-off the first time. Juice gave his president a nod and they pulled up in front of the compound, removing their helmets as they kept an eye out for any trouble. Being who they were, it paid to maintain a certain level of paranoia when it came to meetings, especially in unknown territory, with unfamiliar folks.

"What did you say your friend's name was again?" Bobby asked.

"Goes by Frankie," Juice replied.

From the end of the row, a laugh sounded from their Nomadic guest, who had joined them at Clay's request. He figured if anyone could evaluate the worth and legitimacy of a mercenary, it was the Tacoma Killer. Some of the men exchanged looks, but were quick to pass off Happy's sudden outburst as just another of his many eccentricities.

"Frankie?" Clay mused, "Italian?"

"I don't think so," Juice replied with a chuckle.

Clay glanced around, but the property was eerily still.

"Well, looks like your buddy, Frankie, is late."

Juice glanced at his watch. "Actually, we're early."

"How'd we manage that?"

The younger man simply shrugged and Clay sighed.

As the members sat back against their bikes to wait out the remaining time – some lighting up fresh cigarettes, others checking their burners and cells for any new messages or missed calls – their VP stepped away to survey the surrounding paddocks, boots crunching on the gravel driveway. It was quiet this far out; no noise or light pollution from traffic or row upon row of streetlights. A light breeze blew over them, warm even with the sun close to disappearing completely from the sky. Jax soaked up the rare moment of peace before something caught his ear.

"You hear that?" He had his head cocked as he took a drag from his cigarette. The faint sound of music drifted down to them from the other end of the compound. Drawing their sidearms out of habit, stamping out their cigarettes, they followed their VP towards the source of the noise, coming to a stop in front of a heavy, sliding side-door. The familiar song continued to sound from within, a steady bass beating as Jax signaled a count. On three, they pulled back the door and moved in. The warehouse itself was empty; spotlessly clean with the few boxes it contained stacked neatly onto metal shelves. The music grew louder as they neared the source, and they continued on to approach a second sliding door that sat deeper into the complex, this one made of a heavier, reinforced metal. Jax gripped the handle, glancing back at his brothers, then pulled.

A man sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room, the chair itself chained to the floor to avoid any tumbles or attempts of escape. The person standing in front of the man continued to run their blowtorch over the exposed skin of his sensitive inner forearm, the music blasting from the speakers around them barely managing to cover the sound of his screams.

Suddenly he became still and his head dropped forward, chin resting on his chest. The welder turned to them then, and switched off the torch, placing it on the table behind them alongside dozens of other interesting-looking implements. They took off their gloves and tossed them down too, before finally pushing their welding goggles back to rest on top of their head. At first the woman's eyes were dark and cold, her mind still set in the realm of torture, clearly annoyed by the interruption, then her gaze fell on Juice and her face lit up.

"Hey, Juicy Fruit!" she greeted over the blast of the speakers, giving a quick wave before removing the goggles completely and moving to turn off the music. Juice managed to draw his gaze from the man on the chair, his expression slightly horrified at catching his friend at work, then he bowed his head at the embarrassing nickname, unable to help the dorky smile her enthusiasm drew from him. His brothers turned their eyes in his direction.

"Something you forget to tell us?" Clay asked him quietly, nodding towards the blonde as she removed her blood-speckled apron and laid it down neatly beside her gloves.

Juice managed a sheepish look and turned back to his friend, who was taking in each of the leather-clad bikers as she approached. She stopped in front of him first, pulling him into a bear hug and pressing a kiss to his defined cheekbone.

"I thought I told you not to call me that anymore," he reminded her quietly, knowing all eyes and ears were on them.

"I know. So, how've you been, Juicy Fruit?"

He gave an exasperated look, but his telltale smile remained fixed in place. She returned the grin, noting the color that had crept into his cheeks. Clay saw immediately why he had been so adamant about them meeting her; the kid was absolutely smitten.

"And these must be your friends," she went on, turning back to address the other awaiting men. "The men of SAMCRO."

"That we are," Clay replied, attempting to break her gaze with an intimidating stare of his own, but she soon looked past him to the next man in line as if oblivious to his attempts to assert his dominance.

"You boys are a little early," she noted, checking her watch just to be sure. "I wasn't expecting you for another ten minutes."

"Look, if you're in the middle of something, we can wait outside," Jax told her, gesturing with a quick jab of his thumb in the direction of the open door, looking over at the unconscious man still strapped to the chair. He had seen a lot during his time with the club, but the smell of cooked human flesh wasn't exactly pleasant, and he couldn't help but feel they'd intruded on the woman's work. Or whatever the hell this was supposed to be. Juice hadn't exactly been clear on the sort of services his friend provided.

"Nah, you're alright," she assured him with a friendly smile, as her gaze continued to move down the line, "He'll be out for another half hour or so." Something caught her attention at the end of the row and she moved passed them, coming to a dead stop in front of Happy. The Tacoma Killer stared down at her with cold, dark eyes and the other members stilled, sensing trouble brewing. Juice took a protective step in her direction, expression hesitant. No one ever approached the man like that, certainly not with that amount of confidence; his face alone usually had people crossing the street just to avoid him. The woman stared back for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the bottom of the white t-shirt under his kutte, pulling it up to reveal the cluster of smiley face tattoos on his torso. She glanced back up to meet his gaze.

"Someone's been busy," she said, breaking into a grin. The notorious executioner laughed as they embraced, clapping her on the back while the other looked on, astonished by the latest bizarre turn of events.

Clay cocked an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Jax, whose mouth was slightly agape. "Well that's…"

"Terrifying," Chibs finished for him, a deep, disturbed frown etched into his features. He glanced from the reunited pair to the chargrilled man in the chair and shook his head, turning away. He had played his part in all sorts of violence over his lifetime, but this wasn't exactly his kind of scene.

Clay glanced over at Juice, but it was difficult to tell if he was already aware of the apparent relationship between Frankie and the Nomad – the kid just looked glad to see her.

"You two know each other?" Tig asked, finally voicing the confusion of his comrades, eyes trained eagerly on the strange newcomer. If he had been asked to describe the ideal situation for meeting a new woman, walking in on her torturing a guy tied to chair while Peaches' _Fuck the Pain Away_ played in the background probably would have fallen pretty high on the list. He didn't care if Juice was the one currently sticking it to her – the kid was easily intimidated, or if the Sergeant-at-Arms was feeling a little more generous, at least easily persuaded – but when you were considered the most fucked up individual in the club, you did not mess with the only other person that surpassed you in crazy.

"We've worked together a couple of times," she replied, throwing Happy an unsettling smirk, which he returned. "Small world."

"I guess so," Jax commented, exchanging another look with Clay.

"I can vouch for this one," Happy assured them. The old man rubbed his salt-and-pepper stubble as he considered the enforcer's recommendation. He looked back at Juice, and the boy offered an encouraging smile, hoping it masked his growing discomfort at seeing another man pawing at his childhood friend.

"Alright," Clay said, "So let's talk."

* * *

The remote diner she led them to wouldn't have been Clay's first choice for a sit down, even if it was surprisingly empty for a Friday night. After watching her fill a syringe from a small bottle of clear liquid and jab it into the neck of her cargo, they were left waiting on their bikes while she organized her own transport. The next surprise had come when she appeared out the front on a sleek, black Ducati – the zippy little machine earning mixed reactions from the seasoned riders.

"I know the owner," Frankie reassured Clay now, catching the club president's skeptical expression as they neared the establishment. She gestured to the empty parking lot. "The only thing keeping this guy in business is the hush money."

"You're paying this guy off?"

"Have been for a while now. I've started meeting all my clients here."

Clay frowned at the idea of leaving such an easy trail. "Don't seem too smart."

She turned back to look at him, smiling to cover up her flicker of offense at the comment.

"That I do that, or that I told you I do that?"

He smirked and cocked his head slightly, indicating both options were equally unwise.

"I've known Juice a long time," she assured him, "He vouched for you guys."

"Oh, well, in that case…" the president replied sarcastically.

Frankie chuckled. "I have an understanding with the owner. He talks, he doesn't get paid. He doesn't get paid…"

"He loses his business," Jax finished for her, realizing why she had picked this particular establishment as her kind of temporary office. He nodded, appreciating the ingenuity behind the arrangement.

"And what happens if he gets a better offer?" Clay asked her.

"He knows what happens," she replied without emotion, "Besides, the pie here's pretty good."

Clay exchanged a look with his stepson, but Jax seemed open to at least hearing her out. They followed her inside, the ensemble of rough-looking men coming to a halt as they were greeted by a nervous man with dark, thinning hair.

"Hi, Frankie," he smiled, scrambling to grab enough menus for everyone, "Shall I push together a couple of tables for you and your, uh, friends?"

She fought hard not to laugh at his awkward behavior. Most of her clients were well-dressed business people looking for a bloody leg up the white-collar ladder; well-behaved and mild-mannered, not looking to draw any attention. The few motorcycle clubs she had helped out – the Tacoma branch of Sons, for example – normally preferred meetings within clubhouse walls, or on the sides of long, deserted stretches of road.

"Yeah," she smirked, "For my friends. Thanks, Dick."

Once they were seated and had given a round of orders – mainly for coffee, since they didn't expect to be staying too long; Juice, Bobby and Piney taking up her recommendation for the pie – Frankie took the opportunity to glance around at each of the men once more. An important part of her job was getting a good read on people, and the signals she was currently receiving from each person were almost deafening. She hadn't missed, for example, Clay's very obvious attempts to intimidate her, used to it from her many male clients, as well as a number of her female ones. It came with the territory, particularly as a woman, with the clients finding it necessary to test her; have her prove to them why she might be better able to achieve the things they could not. It was behavior she had expected from the president of the club.

The vice president was another easy read. His responses so far, in both speech and body language, had appeared almost purposely opposing of everything his superior said or did, a sign of a prince eagerly awaiting his crown. She was certain if she was to say something to gain favor in the old man's eyes, the blonde-haired heir would question her intentions, even if all his responses so far had been pretty positive towards her.

Next was the Sergeant-at-Arms. Now he was an interesting one. He had an odd energy about him, mixed with a laid-back attitude that seemed an obvious cover for a man overflowing with insecurities. He had a gaze that lingered, as if challenging whoever it fell upon, waiting to see if they were worth the trouble of his interest. She had been carefully feeding that behavior over the course of the night. He tore his eyes away from her briefly when Dick reappeared with a tray of coffee, setting them carefully on the table, making his final stop between Tig and Clay. Both men cast irritated looks at the man for invading their space, sending him scuttling back to check on the status of the pie.

When Tig finally looked back at the woman next to Jax, he found her quietly observing him.

"What's wrong?" she asked him, "You don't like Dick?"

Something flickered behind his eyes, perhaps an instinctual need to meet the suggestive comment with some form of violence, but this was quickly subdued by a renewed fascination. Without even looking, she could feel the grin on Juice's face, and when she finally did glance at him, he simply shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze, knowing it was all it would take to make him crack. Tig had already had it out for him the past few days, and the last thing he needed was to give the crazy asshole a reason to fuck with him further; he was one laugh away from two roofies in his morning coffee. His smile finally died a little as Tig glanced at him, fading to a mere curl of the lips. Before Tig could return fire for the remark, Clay leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the smooth wood of the table, chin resting on clasped hands, not really sure where to begin with her. He glanced down at Happy, who was gazing steadily at his mercenary acquaintance, and received another nod of approval from the expressionless man.

"Our boy, Juice, here, tells us you're a vet."

She nodded, glancing around at the men whose attention she now held.

"Yeah, ten years in the corps. Two tours in Afghanistan. _Honorably_ discharged," she added with a smirk, for good measure.

Clay gestured to the long, thin scar that ran from the corner of her right eye down to her jaw as she took a sip of her coffee. "Gift from the sand monkeys?"

She nodded, lowering her mug. "Earned two purple hearts for my service."

She side-glanced at Juice, reading his insistence that she be completely honest, warmed by the hint of pride in his smile.

"And one Distinguished Service Cross."

Clay's brow furrowed. How was it that Juice had managed to keep this woman from them for so long? A decorated, ex-marine-turned-mercenary; he was starting to feel it had to be some kind of ruse, some trick to get money out of the club.

"What was that for?" Tig asked, carrying an expression similar to his president, dismissing her earlier transgression.

"I was awarded that and one of the purple hearts together. Cleared out a hospital building on my own after intel pointed to a bomb drop. Our transport hit an IED on the way up, I was the only one mobile enough to carry out the remainder of the mission. Shrapnel took a good chunk out of my stomach, nearly took out my eye, but I was a lot luckier than the others. And there were a lot of kids in that hospital. Bomb threat turned out to be a hoax in the end." Her gaze shifted and grew distant, recalling the lives lost that day due to the shoddy intel.

"How'd you end up at Guantanemo?" Jax asked, intrigued by each new detail she revealed. This was certainly not what he had expected to come from the meet-up, least of all to be hearing it from a woman. She brushed her cropped, blonde hair back behind her ear and her eyes flicked over to meet his.

"I trained as a medic, originally," she explained. "Juice tells me you guys run an auto-repair shop?"

The men nodded, brows furrowed as they wondered what that had to do with anything.

"So if you know how to put an engine back together, it would be fair to say you also know how to take one apart?"

The air seemed to go out of the room as her meaning hit them.

"I guess that was the logic behind the transfer. Stuff I already knew, I just had to reverse the procedures. I picked up a lot during my time there. By the time I made it back to the States, I had offers from a whole bunch of government agencies looking for someone with my particular skillset. But I've never much liked working out of the government's pocket. So I set up on my own. Went a little off the grid."

"Gonna take a guess that Frankie ain't your real name, then," Clay said.

"No," she chuckled, "Just a little nickname I had bestowed upon me. I've even had a couple of clients start calling me 'Frankie the Cleaner', but personally I think it makes me sound like a rejected _Sopranos_ character."

There were a few chuckles around the table; some hesitant, with suspicion yet to dissipate in a few of the members. She glanced at Jax and threw him a little smirk she knew would feed his ego, receiving one in return that confirmed her theory.

"Hey, we know a Frankie, don't we?" he asked Clay, fingering his napkin, one arm thrown casually over the back of his chair.

"Frankie Diamonds?"

"Yeah."

"Italian?" Frankie asked.

"As the Pope blowing a cannoli," Clay confirmed, and she quirked an eyebrow as if to say 'point made'.

"So what is it exactly that you do?" he went on, "I mean, that's why we're here, right? You think you got something to bring to our table."

"In other words, cut to the sales pitch," she replied.

He shot back a dark smile. "Exactly."

"I use the term 'mercenary' because it's familiar to people, but the services I provide are much broader. Since I've been back, I've built up a vast network of contacts over many different spectrums of the community. I've got eyes and ears where I need them, when I need them. And when all else fails, I find that my more refined skills can just as easily get me whatever information either myself or my clients need. I can find people…or I can make them disappear. I can deconstruct a crime scene just as easily as create one. And most importantly of all, I do it all without ever leaving any way to implicate myself, or my clients. My personal guarantee."

"You know, condoms companies go on about guarantees too, yet somehow I still got two daughters," Tig said.

"Helps if you actually wear them," Chibs quipped from across the table, and Tig laughed. The Scotsman was another fairly easy read for her. He was quiet compared to the rest, the kind to sit back and get a read on a situation before jumping into action. His eyes had a careful intelligence about them, and she pegged him as the mediator of the group – the checks and balances set between a borderline-tyrannical leader and his boundary-pushing stepson.

"Helluva pitch," Clay commented as he stared at her, testing her resolve. It didn't seem like there was much that could shake her, but then after everything she had seen and done, it wasn't hard to see why. He glanced at Bobby, knowing full well that her services probably wouldn't come cheap, and that it was something the club couldn't really afford – not right now, anyway.

"I'm guessing you charge on a job-by-job basis?" Bobby asked, using his fork to scoop up his next bite of pie as he looked over at her. The man had a similar way about him as the Scotsman, carrying the weary wisdom of age and experience, only without the same amount of sharp intellect. He looked like the kind of man to begrudgingly agree with their leader's decisions, if only to keep the peace.

"Not really a 'flat-rate' line of work'," she replied, and he nodded.

"Well, we ain't exactly in dire need of your services right now," Clay told her, doing his absolute best to try and crush any preconceived notions she might have had about receiving handouts simply for knowing a member. "But we'll keep you in mind."

"And as a show of good faith, I'll even do the first job free of charge."

"Well, ain't that nice," Clay replied, his tone still carrying that hint of sarcasm.

"Always nice to have friends who come with benefits," Jax joked, flashing another charming smirk.

Frankie chuckled before exchanging a quick look with Juice, who was finishing up the last of his own dessert, then she gave Clay a humble smile and a nod, effectively bringing the little business meeting to a close. Before they all stood up to leave, she slid a card across the table with her contact details, which Tig was quick to snatch up and pocket. She shook hands with each of the members as they passed as a show of respect – Juice remaining close by to keep an eye on any unfriendly interactions – then turned to Tig, whose gaze she could still feel honed in on her like a scoped rifle. She checked her watch. Her awaiting cargo would be on his way back to the realm of consciousness.

"Well, since dinner's more or less taken care of, you're more than welcome to head back with me for the show," she offered them.

"I think we're good," Jax chuckled, running his hand back through his golden hair, smirking at the look on his Sergeant's face as Tig seriously considered her offer.

"We got places to be," Clay reminded him, tipping her a slightly-sardonic nod.

Juice glanced over at Happy. As a Nomad, the man had no obligations to go with them. He only hoped he didn't take Frankie up on her offer. It had come just as much of a surprise to him that the two knew each other, and sensing their familiarity, had felt a spike of jealousy shoot through him. He made a mental note to ask her about it when they saw each other next, which he was hoping would be soon. They still hadn't had a proper catch-up since her return to the West Coast, and they'd only really chatted online or by text while she moved around overseas. He had forgotten how much she could make him smile. Being around her took him back to those simpler days of their youth. Her company had always been like a hot shower after a long, hard day on the road; something that never failed to sooth him.

"So, what did you think of the pie?" she asked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. She gave a quick salute goodbye to Dick, who looked more than a little relieved to see them all go, then followed the others towards their bikes.

"Not bad," he smiled, enjoying the weight and warmth of her touch. "Bobby makes these organic muffins, though. Best thing you'll ever taste."

"Still with the health food, huh?" she teased, rubbing the back of his smooth, shaved head.

"Right?" Tig interjected as he took a seat on his bike, "I keep telling him shit ain't gonna make him live any longer."

"You still smoke, right?" she asked. Juice nodded, eyes rolling, knowing exactly where she was going with that, and she just laughed. She pressed a kiss to his temple, and stepped back as the men started up their bikes. "Hey, dinner tomorrow night, okay? My place."

Juice gave a dopey grin at the suggestion. "Sure."

"I'll text you the address."

Clay looked over at them, waiting for them to be done with their little farewells.

"Alright, I'll be seeing you."

Tig's hand went to his pocket, confirming that her contact details were still tucked safely away.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will. I never did get a chance to taste that pie."

"Subtle as a flying brick, this one," Chibs commented, and Juice just shook his head as he clipped on his helmet, a little uncomfortable about the way Frankie laughed and returned the other man's playful gaze. She made her way over to her own bike, clapping Happy on the back on her way past, and gave a brief wave of her departure before zipping off into the night.

* * *

After a long night tossing and turning, plagued by thoughts of Frankie shacking up with some of his club brothers, Juice found relief in the form of a text the following morning – one from the very girl that seemed to have renewed her residency in his thoughts after that first simple peck on the cheek. He smiled down at the short message.

 _So, how'd I do?_


	2. Chapter 2: Juice

_**Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor. References to mental illness._

* * *

 **JUICE**

The house was a single-story, set on the corner of a quiet neighborhood street. The front lawn was green and immaculately trimmed, boxed in by a white-picket fence lined with the roses bushes planted along either side of the gate. Taking in the view from the street, Juice felt immediate appreciation for the neatness of the property – its classical elegance set in stark contrast to the black, 1968 Dodge Challenger parked in the driveway. Alice had always kept things simple when it came to aesthetics – sleek, black, but most importantly of all, practical – and he had found that having that kind of reliable simplicity in his life helped balance a lot of his own OCD tendencies. On top of his anxiety, his mind was often so cluttered with useless noise that the only thing that could keep him grounded was maintaining disciplined order in his outside world. His dorm back at the clubhouse was easily distinguishable from the rest by the overwhelming attention to detail – everything had its place and its purpose. He never left dirty clothes on the floor, or used dishes laying around – he couldn't stand mess. He was certain if his outside world were ever to reach the same level of disorganization as that in his head, he might just start to lose his mind. This was where Alice complimented him so well.

He paused as he stepped off his bike, and the din in his chest began to grow heavier. He couldn't understand how after all these years, she could still make him nervous. He took a deep breath, let it out through his mouth, and opened the front gate. Nearing the front door, he heard the unmistakable clamor of pots and pans, and knew immediately that she was in the middle of one of her manic episodes. He had seen it in her last night; the unhinged energy behind her eyes, that swaggering confidence that came and went with such unpredictability. He had experienced both sides of her disorder, and though this was the side that often had her in trouble the most, he preferred it to the other. The other side was far more dangerous, and each time he bore witness to the sudden flip was like watching his beautiful friend disappear, replaced instead by an empty husk that merely bore her resemblance. He couldn't stand seeing her like that.

He knocked on the door and the noise inside the house stopped, replaced by the steady beat of footsteps approaching. The door was yanked open and Alice stood before him, hair slightly askew, eyes wild as her mouth quirked up into a grin.

"Hey! Found it okay?"

He matched her expression and stepped inside, readily accepting the hug she gave him as he felt his heart begin to slow once more, relaxing under her touch.

"A little easier than the place last night. Looks great."

And it did, at least until they got to the kitchen. Food was simmering away on top of the electric stove, the lovely smell of meat and spices filling the room. The remaining ingredients sat neatly on the bench beside it, waiting to be added, but that was where the logical order ended. Pots and pans, plates and bowls littered the remaining bench space and most of the ground. Alice threw him an apologetic look as she noticed him quietly taking in the mess.

"I had to pull everything out just to find what I needed," she explained, "When I saw how much shit was in there, I thought I might as well organize it now. No use just shoving it all back in. I don't even know why they had so much crap to begin with."

His eyes ghosted over the plates and bowls, stopping at the unnecessarily empty second cupboard.

"Then it just kind of took off from there."

She had described this to him before, the erratic energy of the mania; the way it made everything feel so urgent and every moment so supercharged. She had been busily preparing a meal, keeping track of the time and ingredients, while simultaneously digging through and sorting what looked like the last five tenant's worth of cookware. It was certainly one way to work off the unpredictable energy.

He watched as she ran an unsteady hand back through her hair as she stared down at the mess, wondering where to continue on from.

"I'll finish up with this," she assured him, feeling his OCD beginning to kick in as they stood among the chaos. "Why don't you got take a look around, get a feel for the place, let me know what you think?"

He hesitated at first, sensing a sort of despair to her tone, as if she had only just realized the damage she had caused in her work space in her moment of impulsiveness; but from his own experience the quiet solitude of the clean-up could often prove to be the best way to wind back down. He left her to it.

Exploring the newly-acquired residence felt almost like walking around a display home, and he was certain she had rented it fully furnished. The only way of knowing the place was even occupied were the little details scattered throughout that made it hers; the portable iPod dock that sat on the mantle above the electric fireplace in the living room, for example, and the framed photos that surrounded it. He had never taken her for a sentimental kind of girl, but the photos of her family back in Queens brought a smile to his face. He was gazing at one of her and her brother when another one caught his eye.

It had been taken on one of their school camps, right after an obstacle course run that had proven messier than the teachers anticipated. It had rained heavily the night before, and the once-stable ground the course had been placed on had quickly become a mud pit. The teachers had been adamant to call off the event, but the braver kids were having none of it, Alice managing to drag him into it at the last minute – quite literally. He had watched her run from the sidelines – despite even at that time settling into his health and fitness obsession, absolutely loath to get dirty – and had been met with her filthy figure at the end of it as she finished victorious. Quick as he was to try and dodge her, she had always been a step ahead, finally managing to trap him in a mud-soaked hug that left them both breathless with laughter. Despite his dirt-covered clothes, he hadn't been able to find it in him to stay mad at her. She had held out a hand as an offer of truce, and he had stupidly accepted it, forgetting her twisted sense of humor as she grabbed his outstretched hand and yanked him backwards into the nearest puddle, ensuring then that they were equally covered in grime.

 _Can't have fun without getting a little dirty._ Her words echoed in his memory and he smiled to himself. It was then that he realized the noise in the kitchen had stopped, and he turned to see Alice leaning in the doorway, watching him.

"Food's ready," she smiled. He placed the photo back down on the mantle, unable to keep the color from rising in his cheeks at being caught in his moment of nostalgia. Her sudden move from his thoughts to an actual physical presence had his heart hammering in his chest again, and he struggled to form a response.

"Cool," was all he managed. Her smirk widened knowingly, eyes softening to let him know he was safe, and she jerked her head in the direction of the dining room. Pausing briefly, he took a moment to collect himself before following after her.

The spread before them was a clear reflection of two individuals who prided themselves on their health and physique. She had known the pie from the night before had been a stretch for him – probably the only cheat meal he would allow himself for the entire week – and so had come up with a meal that might counterbalance it. They had both found fitness an effective way to maintain focus and distract from the unhelpful energies their disorders left them with, but the discipline they had developed as a consequence had taken them on very separate paths. Alice had joined the Marines as soon as she had been old enough, taking off for boot camp and leaving Juice feeling alone for the first time since he'd ended up in foster care. She was the one thing that had kept him grounded for all those years, and like a ship losing its anchor, it was then that he began to drift. Of course that was what had eventually landed him in Charming, at the door of his first real family – but the Sons of Anarchy had never quite been able to fill that void she had left in him.

Sitting across from him now, Alice poured them out some fresh, iced lemon-water as he began to serve some of the chicken and quinoa salad onto his plate.

"So, you never told them my real name?"

"I swear," he grinned, passing her the bowl, his big, doe eyes moving up to meet hers. She cocked an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes, making him laugh. "Seriously. Why would it matter, anyway? I thought you hated 'Frankie'."

She gave a resigned sigh and leaned back in her seat. "I guess it's grown on me."

"This is good," he commented through a mouthful of chicken, and she nodded her appreciation for the compliment.

"So what was the general consensus? I'm gonna take a wild guess from the looks on most their faces you didn't tell them I was a woman."

He gave a sheepish shrug, "I know Clay too well. It would have killed any chance of him even considering a sit down with you."

"Interesting bunch, though."

He chuckled. "You don't know the half of it."

His gaze flicked over to her for a split-second before he turned his attention back to his meal, but she could feel the question weighing on his mind.

"I ran into Happy on a job," she explained, and he glanced up with a little look of panic over the fact she could still read him so well. "We were both after the same guy, took the diplomatic approach, both got paid. Though we had to flip a coin for who got to take the dude's head."

He threw her a look for that little detail, and she chuckled. There was a heavier thought still hanging over him, but he knew it wasn't his place to ask; especially not after being apart for so long. Still, Alice had never been one to ignore the elephant in the room – more the kind to grab it by the trunk and yank.

"We slept together a couple of times. It was nothing. Guy makes some mean pancakes, though."

Juice had paused from his food, fork raised halfway to his mouth as he let this unwanted bit of information sink in, trying desperately not to picture her in bed with the Tacoma Killer.

"What? You telling me you've been celibate this whole time?" Alice chastised, catching his sudden change in mood. His expression was all the answer she needed. "Don't be one of those guys."

"One of what guys?"

"The ones who stick their dick in anything they want, then have the nerve to turn around and call a girl a whore for a bit of free lovin'."

"You know that's not me. It's just…Happy? Really?"

"What's wrong with Happy?"

"I've seen that guy smile while sawing the head off a dead body."

"That's why they call him 'Happy'," she chuckled, but he just shook his head at her, unable to keep from smiling at the old, familiar dark humor.

"Speaking of guys who stick their dick in anything, I feel like I should warn you about Tig."

"Why? What's wrong with Tig?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her obvious interest.

"I'm talking literally anything," he replied. "You do not want to go there."

"Who said I was going to?"

He threw her an incredulous look as he sipped his water.

"You were throwing some pretty heavy signals around last night."

She scoffed. "Please, I was throwing them at Ken Doll, too, but hell if I'm going to sleep with him."

"Don't, don't call Jax that."

"Pretty boy?" she teased. He scrunched up his face.

"That's my VP you're talking about."

"Then you are not gonna want to hear my thoughts on Clay."

He threw her a look of playful warning. Sure, Clay could be a little much sometimes, but he was still the only father-figure he had in his life, and he owed the guy a lot for even giving him a chance; the man had been his sponsor, after all. Without him, he wouldn't have a family.

"How they treatin' you over there? You happy?" she asked on a more serious note, eyes searching his to catch any lies he might try to feed her. He shifted under her intense gaze and looked away, the small smile on his face assuring her that he was fine.

"It's good," he replied, tracing the droplets of condensation on the side of his glass with the tip of his finger. "They're good guys, the repair work keeps my hands and mind busy, and it's never boring. Well, sometimes it is, but it's better than, you know, having nothing. I'm not complaining." He looked over and realized she hadn't touched much of her food. "What about you? You doin' okay?"

She glanced up as if coming out of a momentary trance, and gave a nod with a less-than-convincing smile. "You know how it is."

She had been diagnosed after her first tour of duty, the doctors first mistaking her condition for some kind of post-traumatic stress. That had been the first indication to her that something was off; her work had never bothered her – in fact she would have been more concerned for the lack of feeling over seeing her comrades bleeding out than a more natural, emotional response. There was a numbness that came over her during her depressive episodes. It was what had gotten her from a vehicle full of broken bodies, to a hospital that needed to be evacuated, her hand the only thing keeping her insides from spilling out onto the floor. She had gone into such an extreme state of focus that everything else had fallen away around her, normal physical sensation included. She hadn't cared if she lived or died, she had just wanted to complete her objective.

"They got you on meds?" Juice asked gently, knowing how touchy the topic could sometimes make her. Nobody liked to admit that they needed drugs to help them function normally, but with her it was like admitting she wasn't enough – that she couldn't be that strong, smart, successful person she had always strived for; that she would have to settle for whatever could keep her together long enough to simply make it through the day.

She shook her head. "They effected my work too much. I stopped taking them before my transfer."

"Okay, I gotta ask," he said, a touch of concern in his voice, looking unsure how to pose his question, "Why did you agree to the transfer?"

She could see it in his eyes – the recollection of the man tied to the chair, screaming as she inflicted terrible pain upon him; the question of how she had managed to get to that point in the first place. She had always had a twisted sense of humor – often using her talent for reading people to play on their weaknesses. But he had always loved her for her kind-heartedness. She was the kind of person to hear someone out, to get to know them before making any judgment calls. In a way it kind of explained her weird, sexual history with Happy, but he couldn't place himself deep enough inside her head to see the real damage. To his surprise, she smiled.

"Honestly? I was curious."

"About…torture?"

"About the limits of the human mind."

"Theirs?"

"Mine."

His eyes narrowed with deep concern, thrown by the sudden darkness to her tone.

"You don't talk much about what you've had to do for your club, Juicy, but I've seen your 'Mayhem' patch. I know what that means for a member."

"We do what we have to," he replied weakly.

"You know why I get along so well with Happy?"

"I can't imagine why," he replied, trying to hide the bitterness from his voice.

She chuckled.

"It's not that. It's because we've both accepted our true selves. We've pushed our limits, done some pretty terrible shit. But we don't dwell on it, man. I have these skills, harnessing some of the darkest parts of human nature. And I use them. With all my mental shit I have to deal with, the last thing I need is another reason to beat myself up. I am good at what I do, and I don't know what that says about me, but I genuinely do not care."

He was quiet for a moment, careful to avoid her gaze as he considered her words. He didn't want to admit that the more time he spent with her, the deeper his worry grew. This was not the same girl who had left him back in Queens.

"I don't know how you can do it," he finally said, voice low. He glanced up to meet her eyes, and she knew he was going over old memories in his head; all the moments he had found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with her. There was still good in her – he could see that in her easy smile and the way she formed bonds with other people. He was just having a little trouble accepting this new part of her that had a thing for cutting people up for a profit.

She leaned back in her seat, throwing one arm casually over the back of the chair in a way that oddly reminded him of Jax.

"I'll let you in on something," she was saying, staring down at her half-finished meal, pressing her lips together as if still considering whether or not to tell him this bit of information. "When I first got there and they told me what they wanted me for, I refused. I was trained to save lives under duress. I wanted to add to my karma bank. Now I had these government droids asking me to close the account altogether. I was introduced to the head interrogator there, and he took me under his wing, showed me that torture doesn't have to be about physical intimidation. Sometimes the most effective way to get someone to break is to fuck with their head."

Juice gave her an incredulous look. "I'm starting to see why they picked you."

"Fuck you," she replied, feigning offense at the accurate accusation, "But yeah, you're kind of right, actually. We all have the things we're good at. Like you being a dork."

He threw her a look as he devoured his last piece of chicken.

"An adorable dork," she added, enjoying the goofy smile she received in return. He was such a big kid, it was hard to ever be annoyed at him for too long; that grin of his was too damn infectious.

"Anyway, so I learned the ins and outs of people's ins and outs from this guy, and his last parting bit of advice was to find a way to switch myself off before I step into the room. He called it 'flipping the switch'."

Juice grinned. "Isn't that what they call it when women, you know..."

"That's 'flicking the bean', you dopey motherfucker." He laughed at her and took a long sip of his drink, while she watched him with eyes playfully narrowed. "Will you stop interrupting my goddamn story?"

"Sorry, it's just so long," he teased.

"Something I'm sure you've never heard before."

"Hey!"

"Will you let me finish, already?"

"Something I'm sure you've heard plenty."

She stared at him. "That doesn't even make sense."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Think about it."

Suddenly they were a couple of 15 year-olds again, sitting up in Alice's room sharing a joint he had managed to sneak in. Her father had always been suspicious about the way they would creep down into the kitchen, shoving every sugary snack they could find into one great, big bowl, before making their way back upstairs. Her mother, on the other hand, had found their poorly-covered habit funny; the product of a hippy marrying a republican. Of course, the tables had been completely turned when it came to their daughter joining the Marines.

"So what does it mean, then, 'flipping the switch'?"

"Think of it this way. There's Alice, and then there's Frankie."

"So it's like a Jekyll-Hyde thing?"

She made an impressed face. "I would have thought you'd go more Bruce Banner-Hulk, but yeah, basically. When I step into the room, I switch off that part of myself that's Alice – the part that would be effected by this kind of work. It's a lot easier than I thought at first. I mean I already live by two polar opposites, right? So tuning into that and making them co-operate for me seemed like the logical thing to do."

"I think they call that split-personality," he joked.

"Well neither of us give a shit about what you think."

He chuckled, then his expression turned a little more serious.

"Does it work?"

"Haven't lost my mind yet."

They lapsed into a heavy silence as Alice stood to begin clearing the table. Juice was quick to offer his help, but she waved him away. Watching her step into the kitchen, he felt his burner vibrate in his pocket.

Chibs.

"Hey, what's up?"

" _Sorry to interrupt your date, lover boy, but we got trouble. Best get your ass over here now."_

"Alright, I'll be there in twenty."

" _Better make it ten. Clay's right pissed."_

"Yeah."

He flipped his phone shut and sighed.

"Trouble at the OK Corral?" Alice asked, watching from the door. He looked up, unaware she had been listening, then glanced away, nodding. She frowned, moving towards him as she sensed his growing anxiety. "You all good?"

He got to his feet. "Yeah. Sorry, I gotta go."

"That's fine. Not like you're too far away anymore, anyway. I'm coming to you next."

She grinned at him but he didn't seem too keen on the idea of exposing her to his brothers' lecherous tendencies again. He finished off the remainder of his drink; the cool, lemon flavor refreshing him for the road, then they made their way to the front door. Alice stood with her hands jammed in her jean pockets, watching as he took his kutte off the hook and shrugged it back on, admiring the way his muscles moved under his bronze skin. He was in the best shape she had ever seen him, and a lot of the tattoos were new to her. Still, no matter how ripped he got, or how much ink he added, the biker would always be the sweet, goofy guy she had grown up with. He turned back to her, noticing her distracted smile and returned one of his own.

"What?"

"My baby's all grown up," she teased, and he shook his head.

They stepped out into the warm night air and glanced up at the stars, turning back to each other in what proved to be their first awkward goodbye. Something about the nervous way Juice looked down at her made Alice almost equally as uncomfortable. It was the weirdest thing after so many years spent at ease in each other's company. As always, Alice was the one to break the tension, pulling him into another hug, this time feeling him return it a little tighter than before, his touch lingering as he closed his eyes. She drew back and looked up at him, eyes questioning his sudden odd behavior, but he just smiled, covering up the flurry of nerves churning up his dinner. She ran the tips of her fingers over one of the tattoos on his head, enjoying the feel of his body against hers, then pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, withdrawing from his embrace.

"Ride safe."

Confused by her sudden retreat, his brow quirked in a quick frown, but he forced up his usual silly smile. Despite his best attempts, she still read the hurt in his eyes, and she felt the sting of guilt. She watched him mount his bike

"I was serious about coming by the club, by the way," she said. "I wanna check out the place you're calling home these days.

"I know," he replied with a weary sigh, "But it'll have to be whenever things die down. I don't know what's happening but it didn't sound good."

"Clay might take me up on the pro bono work after all."

"Yeah, maybe." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Might be a party coming up. I could take you to that, give you a taste of my side of life." He smirked and she suddenly found herself intrigued by the idea. She had never been to a biker party, but from the way he described them, there was nothing she wouldn't like.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

He chuckled and started up his bike, revving the engine a little before giving a wave and disappearing down the street. Alice remained where she was for a moment, gazing off into the darkness, still basking in the residual warmth of his company. It had been so long since she had allowed herself the freedom to open up and enjoy herself - long hours at work often rendering her unsure of which version of herself she was bringing home. As she turned back towards the house, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

"Yes? Yes, it is. How many? Okay. Location? Give me twenty minutes."

She flipped her burner closed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It was time for Frankie to get to work.

* * *

 _This chapter touches a lot on mental illness, and as someone who suffers from a disorder of their own, I decided to explore the idea of an OC who suffers from the same condition. I've never written a bipolar character before so this is new territory for me, and I can only go from my own experiences and knowledge. I have done my best to accurately represent the different disorders mentioned, but any suggestions are always welcome. I'm really happy with the response to the story so far, and appreciate the likes and reviews. It might prove to be a slow build, this one, but I'll do my best to make it worth it._


	3. Chapter 3: Tig (i)

_Okay, so I wasn't happy with the ending of the previous chapter, and I tweaked it about a day after posting. I used another ending I had originally considered, but after some consideration realized it just wasn't the right time to put it in. So I changed it a second time. Nothing major (like the initial change would have been), just what I think is a neater ending to the chapter._

 _This turned into a long one - this one half being my longest chapter yet - so I ended up having to split it into a two-parter. The next part will be up shortly. Thank-you_ **beth626** _and_ **nikole salvatore** _for your consistent reviewing. If anyone has any suggestions or thoughts to share, please do! I love hearing from my readers. Feedback is much loved. Keep in mind I will be weaving in and out of canon to fit my story. Some events will be moved around, changed, or removed entirely._

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **TIG (i)**

Tig picked up the grime-stained rag from atop his toolbox and began to wipe the oil from his hands, moving carefully around each of his rings. After the night they'd had, it was almost comforting to get back to the more monotonous work in the repair shop. The Mayans had managed to locate one of their storage warehouses, where they had been housing a shipment of guns for a black street gang known as the One-Niners – a shipment that had already been paid for. Not only did they not have the money to refund to their business partners, but the gang of Latino bikers had blown up whatever they could have used to keep them happy in the meantime. It was the first step in what he knew would escalate into another turf war; and he really didn't want to have to deal with that shit. The weapons weren't the only thing concealed within the warehouse, though, and the thought of that little secret lying extra-crispy at the hands of the county sheriff's department was giving him an uneasy feeling – something that was extremely rare for the man.

In response to the Mayan declaration of war, and with the help of Juice's hacking talents, the Sons had located one of the Mayan's own warehouses and proceeded to blow that sky high. They hadn't exactly intended on killing two of the rival club's men, not to mention the Nord that they'd discovered aiding their enemy – thus revealing a second adversary they had thought they had an understanding with – but every war has its casualties. Besides, Tig had had a lot of fun shoving a stick of dynamite up the Nord's ass – as a message to the white supremacist gang, of course – before lighting the candles on that particularly explosive cake.

"Fucking Darby in bed with the wetbacks. Ne'er thought I'd see the day those Nazi assholes would turn on their own beliefs just for a scrap o' cash," Chibs was saying, as he knelt down to work on his bike, "We should count ourselves lucky the eight-balls decided to play nice. We'd be up to our ears in it, otherwise."

"I'd say we sent a pretty clear message," Tig replied, smiling at the memory of his little creative touch, "We got some of our guns back, offed a couple of Mayan's, everyone's happy."

"Everyone except the Mayan's," the Scotsman pointed out. That was always the thing when it came to street politics – there was always going to be someone left feeling screwed over. He was sure that this wouldn't be put right until someone else's blood was spilled. He hated this petty turf crap.

The steady purr of a muscle car caught Tig's attention before he could reply. A sleek, black Dodge rolled onto the lot, coming to a stop not far from the shop. When the driver stepped out – cropped blonde hair, aviators shielding their eyes from the bright Californian sun – it took him a second to recognize her.

"Can you pass the torque wrench, brother?" Chibs asked, and when he received no response, he glanced up. Tig was already on the move. "Or you could just fucking ignore me." Following his brother's gaze, he spotted their new mercenary acquaintance and cocked an eyebrow at the way she was looking at the Sergeant-at-Arms. Arms folded, she leaned back against the hood of her impressive ride, a small smirk adorning the corner of her mouth.

"Juicy Boy!" he called out. Juice slid out from under the car behind him and caught Chibs's concerned gaze. Chibs gestured towards the unfolding situation and the youngster turned his head, eyes widening slightly when he saw their visitor and the man approaching her. He scrambled to his feet, wiping his hands on his grey coveralls before smoothing one back over his shaved Mohawk. The Scot watched the obvious display of primping and rolled his eyes before grabbing the torque wrench from the drawer.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" Tig joked as he strutted up to the car. He caught her keys as she tossed them to him, her smirk widening at the sudden look of confusion on his face. She took off her sunglasses and set them on top of her head.

"Car's due for a service. Gave me an excuse to come check on my boy."

His eyes narrowed briefly as it took him a moment to figure out who she was referring to. She waved, and he turned to find Juice approaching with a warm smile.

"Hey! Whatcha doing here?" he asked her, casting a sideways glance at his older club brother.

"Tig, here, was just booking me in for a service," she explained, holding the older man in a challenging gaze. Juice glanced between the two and snatched the keys from Tig's grasp.

"I'll see if we can fit you in," he told her, heading in the direction of the office.

Tig caught him by the shoulder. "We can fit her in," he assured him, staring at the woman in question before turning his icy-blue eyes to his young counterpart, daring him to say otherwise. Juice glanced over at Alice, catching her devious smile. He knew she was perfectly capable of working on her own car. He shook his head at her and she gave him an exaggerated shrug of innocent surprise, grinning at him as he went to retrieve the paperwork.

"Come on, doll. Why don't I show you around?" Tig offered, jerking his head for her to follow. Passing by the garage, she caught sight of the Scotsman and offered a nod of greeting. He returned it, not bothering to hide his obvious suspicion. His gaze followed the pair as Tig led the way towards the clubhouse.

"Tiggy!" he called, when he realized where they were heading.

Tig turned back to look at him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Showing her around," he replied with a wolfish grin, not seeing the harm.

Chibs shook his head, arms folded as he leaned back on his bike, wrench in hand. "She's a customer."

"Maybe she's thirsty."

The two men exchanged a silent conversation, but whatever conclusion they came to, Tig didn't seem to pay any mind, putting an arm over Alice's shoulders and leading her on towards their intended destination.

"I don't think he likes me very much," she said, and Tig chuckled.

"Don't mind him. He's still angry we don't let him wear the kilt to work."

Juice returned moments later, clipboard in hand, his smile fading the second he noticed his friend's absence. He glanced at Chibs for an explanation and received an unimpressed look in return.

"Tig's giving her the grand tour."

A bolt of anger twisted through Juice's stomach. He jerked his thumb towards the clubhouse, hoping he didn't look as bitter as he felt as he placed the clipboard down on the nearest bench, and Chibs gave a nod. He watched the young man stride off knowing exactly where this whole thing was going to end up if Tig kept going. It was clear from the get go how Juice felt about the girl, and regardless of whatever Tig had in mind for her, Chibs knew the man was never serious about his conquests. He would charm her, fuck her, then never talk to her again – thus causing an unfixable rift between both a potentially valuable contact and the club, as well as himself and Juice. The two had never really been close, but then again Tig's… peculiarities took a little getting used to; even Chibs still sometimes had his doubts about the man's mental stability, and they'd been riding together for years.

* * *

Alice stopped in the entranceway as Tig's arm left her shoulders, taking in the room around her. To her left lay a sort of sitting area, with well-worn, comfy-looking sofas, as well a couple of sets of small, round tables and chairs, and a pool table towards the back. To her right sat the bar, where Clay, Jax and Bobby were currently huddled over, speaking in hushed tones. The moment they realized they had company, the three men straightened, shooting Tig a look as he stepped behind the bar to retrieve a couple of drinks.

"What's your poison?" he called back to her, unfazed by the looks he was receiving.

"Uh, whatever you're having's fine."

Alice stepped further into the room, hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, absorbed in all the little details around her, smiling when she noticed the back wall decorated in framed mugshots. She walked over to them, picking out Juice's from a distance. He looked so young; back before he had started shaving his hair into a short Mohawk; closer to the boy she had left back in Queens.

Bobby and Jax watched her for a moment, then exchanged a look. Clay, meanwhile, was watching Tig's every move, waiting for the opportune moment to lay into him for this latest indiscretion. It was a well-known rule that the clubhouse was for family and friends only, and as far as Clay was concerned, 'Frankie' fell into neither category. Regardless of what she was to Juice, the woman just gave him a bad feeling, and he always listened to his gut when it came to people. It was an instinct picked up from a lifetime of dealing with shady types and backstabbing business associates.

She finally turned and gave them a nod of greeting, smiling awkwardly when she noticed the looks she was receiving.

"I hope I'm not intruding" she said, feeling Clay's gaze in particular. The club president turned back to Tig, who was in the middle of pouring two glasses of whiskey.

"You're fine, sweetheart," Tig reassured her.

After a moment of consideration, Jax gave a sympathetic smile and a jerk of the head, gesturing for her to join them, and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her own face. He was actually starting to grow on her a little bit.

Tig set down her drink in front of her as she took a seat.

"So, no men to torture today?" Clay asked.

"None I'm getting paid for, anyway," she replied before taking her first sip. Tig and Jax smirked, the latter throwing his stepfather a look, urging him to not go too hard on her. Even Bobby looked amused.

"Where's Juice?" Clay asked, then the door opened and the man in question stepped through, quickly correcting his irritated expression when he realized he had an audience.

"Hey, there you are," he said, mustering his most convincing smile. He knew Alice would be able to read right through it, anyway; but it was more for Tig's sake, knowing any sign of weakness was a sure way to bolster the man's interest in a supposedly off-limits woman. He liked the competition.

"Yeah, sorry, brother," Tig said, "She looked like she could use a drink."

Alice cocked an eyebrow at that.

"Yeah. Sure," Juice replied, his forced smile conflicting with the sudden sharpness in his eyes. It was almost endearing the way he refused to make a scene, but the two men still managed to find themselves in a silent Mexican stand-off, gazes locked, as if waiting for the other to make the next move. Tig looked a little too eager to find out what that move might be. Alice had to turn away so they wouldn't see her amusement, and found herself eye-to-eye with Bobby instead. His eyes narrowed briefly at her, but he needed no further explanation. You could practically smell the testosterone in the room – they might as well have been whipping them out and measuring at this point.

"Hey, mind if I use the bathroom?" she asked suddenly, breaking up the embarrassing display of bravado.

"Yeah, sure."

"It's this way."

Juice and Tig stared at each other. Jax bit back a grin.

"Enough," Clay finally spoke up. "Juice, go show her, for Christ's sake."

Once the two had left the room, he turned with a serious look to his Sergeant-At-Arms.

"What the fuck are you thinking?"

"I know, I shouldn't be drinking on the job."

"I meant with Lady Guantanamo over there. You steppin' on Juice's toes, brother?"

"Ain't like that. Ain't like she's his Old Lady."

"I'm telling you now, Tig, you better not be starting another goddamn beef over some gash."

"Hey, that was between me and the girl last time," he argued, recalling the sweetbutt who had grown a little too attached.

"Then why were we the ones who had to drag her fucked-up ass off the lot when she stumbled in high off her tits, threatening customers with a pocket-knife?"

"Besides," Bobby added, "You fuck this one over, you might just end up in that chair of hers."

"I think that's what he's aiming for," Jax smirked, and Tig simply cocked his head before downing the remainder of his drink.

"I think Juicy might be a little tame for her taste, you know? I mean, Happy, for Chirst's sake? Girl's gotta be into all kinds of weird shit."

"You're right," Clay agreed, tone almost mocking, "You're much more her type."

* * *

Juice was waiting for her in the hallway, slowly growing worried when she failed to reappear. He could have sworn he'd heard the toilet flush. Making his way back towards the shared bathroom, he passed his own dorm and did a double take. He normally hated other people invading his personal space, especially since they had the inexplicable habit of touching and moving his shit around; but for her he would make an exception.

Alice stood in the middle of the room, smiling to herself as she took in the neat surroundings.

"I knew this must be yours," she told him as he entered.

One side of his mouth quirked up in a brief smile. He was still in his coveralls from the garage, smudges of oil and grime scattered across the material and his forearms, where his sleeves were rolled up. As much as he hated the idea of getting stains on the furniture, having her alone in his room was proving the perfect distraction.

"No photos?" she asked as she looked around. He just shrugged, moving in closer. He wasn't sure if it was seeing her with Tig, or this unexpected fulfillment of a long-time wish of his, but he had the sudden urge to kiss her. He grabbed her lightly by the arm and spun her to face him, a playful smile on his lips; but when the moment was right, he found that he had lost his nerve. He'd had so many chances to do this since she had arrived in town – from the first night, in front of his brothers, to the night of the dinner at her place. He couldn't bring himself to take the risk. The thought of her rejecting him, of harboring a destructive bitterness against someone he had loved for so long, was a possibility that continued to hold him in a state of neutrality, never able to make the first move.

As if to test his resolve, Alice reached up and gently rubbed at a streak of motor oil on his cheek, her eyes catching his conflicted gaze. As usual, her mouth quirked into a playful smirk, refusing to acknowledge the intensity of the feelings she was reading from him. It wasn't as if they hadn't gone there before. They'd spent their later teenage years exploring their sexuality together, enjoying a level of respect and understanding they just couldn't seem to find with other people. Then he had found out he hadn't been her first – or her only – and that old, familiar bitterness had begun to set in. If he'd had the confidence to try and make her his, he wasn't even sure that she would want him. Looking at her now, the comfortable way she held his gaze, the way her eyes had a way of reassuring him, as if she could read every single one of his doubts, he felt his heart battling once again with his head. But the moment had well and truly passed.

"You okay?" she asked him, her brow creasing into a sweet, worried frown. He forced up a smile and nodded. "You're getting worse at that, Juicy." She ran her fingers back over his head and he continued to stare. It was as if she was willing him to man up and make the move. Then all at once she had stepped away, browsing through his pile of comics. He was in the middle of silently beating himself up over the lost moment, when he heard her chuckle. He looked over at her.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding up a cover with a crazed-looking Harley Quinn on the front. "Any resemblance?"

"Crazy and hot? Yeah, a little."

She made to throw it at him and he felt a genuine grin pull at his face.

"So, does the Tig thing really bother you?" she went on, keeping her gaze carefully trained away from him.

"Don't tell me you're actually interested."

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, in the same kind of the same way I was with Happy. Uncharted territory, you know?"

"Well, it would be interesting to see those two get into a fistfight over you."

She threw him an incredulous look. "Please, Happy's all about the free love, brother."

He smiled and shook his head, about to take a seat on his bed when he remembered the state of his clothes. He settled instead for his desk chair, which could at least be more easily cleaned. He leaned back in it, hands resting in his lap as he watched her look around. She was very careful to set things back exactly as she had found them, a gesture that sent a little pang of affection through his chest.

"When's the last time you got laid?"

The question threw him completely, and he failed to hide his sudden embarrassment. She turned to look back at him, waiting for a reply. Struggling with words, he shrugged.

"I dunno. I don't keep track."

She chuckled, "Yeah, I guess with all the free pussy around here, you must be swimming in it." She tipped him a wink and he rolled his eyes, unable to keep from smiling at her obvious teasing. "Haven't been going steady with anyone?"

"'Going steady'? What is this, the 50s? Do people even say that anymore?"

She laughed. "Okay, okay. You know what I mean. What do you guys call them again?"

"Old Ladies."

"Such a charming term. No pun intended."

"Nah, Clay's the only one of us who's married. To Jax's mom, Gemma. You'll probably run into her when you pick up your car. She works in the office. Bobby has a couple of ex-wives. Jax has an ex-wife, too," he went on, catching her look of surprise. Jax was quite young – she hadn't pictured him as the kind to want to settle down so early. "She just had his kid. Well, she almost OD'd, so they kind of had to get it out of there so they could save it. From what I heard there were a few complications, so they've been waiting to hear more from the doctors."

"Christ. He's keeping it together pretty well," she thought aloud, thinking back to his friendly invite at the bar. You would never have been able to tell the man was going through horrible shit like that.

"Yeah. He's always been good like that. Brushes it off, keeps pushing forward."

"Quality of a good leader."

Juice nodded, his mind wandering back to the original topic as he considered the lifestyle statuses of his other brothers.

"Tig had someone a long while back, I guess. Has a couple of daughters. I've never met them."

"Yeah, I remember him mentioning them at the diner."

"Chibs has a wife and kid over in Ireland. Or maybe ex-wife. He doesn't see her, from what I can gather."

"What about, uh, Piney is it? He didn't say much at the sit down."

"Why, you interested in him, too?"

She gave a silent, sarcastic laugh that made him grin. Piney was the oldest member of the group, a few years off seventy. Since being diagnosed with emphysema, the man had been forced to carry an oxygen tank around with him at all times – not exactly a picture of health, let alone sex appeal.

"He's divorced, too. His son, though, Opie, he's another member."

"I haven't met him yet."

"No, he's sort of… on hiatus. Taking some family time."

"Right. Well, thanks for the eligibility rundown, Cupid."

It was his turn to throw a sarcastic look.

"Oh, so it turns out there is a party coming up. Tonight. You free?"

Her gaze moved upwards and she considered her schedule, mouth scrunching to one side as she mentally calculated the time one of her pre-booked jobs would take.

"Should be fine."

"Great."

"Do you think rocking up to a Harley club on a Ducati will get me beaten up?"

"At least," he replied, with a smirk.

"Well, then assuming you can fit my car in," she teased, poking fun at his earlier suggestion that he wasn't going to do her a solid on that, "I won't need to be riding bitch with anyone."

"Piney will be so disappointed."

She stuck her finger up at him and he laughed, getting to his feet.

"Car won't be ready for a while, though. I could call you a cab? Or you could just get off your pedestal and let me drop you off."

She threw him a look of playful warning. "A cab will be fine."

They made their way back down the hall, and Alice suddenly chuckled. Feeling Juice's gaze on her, she explained, "They're probably wondering what the hell took so long." Then she realized what they would probably really think had happened.

"Did you do this on purpose?" she asked him.

"No. You were the one who decided to go through my stuff."

She cocked an eyebrow, knowing it was true. Regardless, the turn of events had worked in his favor. She was sure the idea of him making a show of dominance against Tig and taking her right there in the bathroom would have been much approved of by his brothers. Stepping back into the main area, she caught the anticipated looks. Juice did his best to look modest. The extended rendezvous would have played out in his favor, had he not been dealing with Tig.

"Took your time," he said to them now, "I'd almost think Juice was busy giving it to you on the sink, but then I imagine you'd have been back a lot sooner if that had been the case."

The huff of laughter escaped through her nose before she could stop herself, and the others caught the deflated look that came over the younger man. Juice watched as Alice rejoined the men by the bar and polished off the remainder of her drink. Tig offered her a refill, but she waved him away.

"We're having a little get together tonight," Jax said to her, "You're more than welcome to join us."

She smiled back at him, wondering if it was her place to mention the situation with his ex-wife and son. She decided against it.

"Fighting, fucking and free drinks," Tig grinned.

"Ah, my three favorite 'F's," Alice chuckled. "Sure, I'll be there."

She looked over at Juice, tipping him a wink to tease him after his mini defeat, but he wasn't overly disheartened. After all, there was still always the party.

* * *

Alice had to admit, watching a shirtless Happy lay into Tig in the ring was a major turn on. Tig was holding his own against the Nomad, matching each landed blow with one of his own. Both men were sweating, toned bodies glistening under the outdoor lighting and the flicker of the scattered drum fires. Juice had wandered off to grab them both a beer, leaving her to take in the entertainment. By now, both men were well aware of the woman in the audience, but only Tig seemed to care. Happy was his usual volatile self, though he had shot her a smile at one stage, which she had been quick to return with a wink, earning herself a devious smirk from the man. She half-considered taking him back into one of the dorms and reliving old memories. Now that would have been a fun trip down memory lane.

Juice returned at last, his path momentarily blocked by a pretty, brunette croweater who, judging by the smirk on his face, was in the process of sweet-talking him back into the clubhouse. Catching Alice's knowing smile, he finally managed to tear himself away.

"Did you seriously just turn her down?"

He managed a sheepish grin and handed her a beer. "I've been with her before. She's alright."

"Just alright, huh?" She took a sip and turned back to the ring. Juice didn't fail to notice the looks Happy was throwing her as the fight continued, the pair exchanging twisted little smiles. "You know, I'm half-tempted to volunteer for the next round. It's been a long time since I had a good fight."

"Can you even fight?"

"I'm fighting the urge to smack you right now," she replied, and he chuckled. "Ooh." She pulled a face as Happy got in a particularly good blow, hitting Tig just below the eye. "I was trained in hand-to-hand combat, kid."

"I dunno. Which of them would you want to fight?"

"I reckon I could take them both."

Hearing the comment, Tig was momentarily distracted by the thought of double-teaming her with the Tacoma Killer, his sudden lapse in concentration earning yet another fist to the face. By now his face was scattered with cuts and bruises, but both men were still grinning; it was all in good fun. Catching Alice and Happy exchanging yet another look, Tig took the opportunity to drive his opponent back into the ropes, raining blows to his ribs and chest.

"Break that shit up," Clay ordered Bobby when the situation started to look like it was going to escalate, shooting the instigator an irritated look. But the two fighters were quick to step apart, falling back together in a brotherly hug, clapping each other on the back. Alice found herself smiling at the display of camaraderie. She glanced over at Juice again as she took another sip of her beer, and felt a pang of affection for him when she saw the genuine look of contentment on his face. He really was at home here, amongst his ragtag little family; though when she thought about it, he had grown up gravitating towards the outcasts – a black sheep finally finding its flock.

A beautiful redhead approached them now, stopping by to hand a couple of beers to the two fighters as they left the ring. Tig pressed his to his steadily-forming bruises, and followed Happy towards the pair of observers.

"I thought you'd be volunteering for the next round," the Nomad said to Alice in his gruff voice, arm draped over the beer-toting redhead, casually claiming her for the night. Alice looked at the woman, curious about the place and mindset of all the sweetbutts and croweaters at the club. She had to admit, being free to fuck whichever hard-bodied biker she wanted to on any given day was an attractive lifestyle option; but she knew, at least for herself, that waking up to an empty bed every morning – or worse, being told to leave a comfortable one – would quickly lose its novelty. The redhead slowly met her gaze and gave a shy smile. Happy noticed this, and she could already see the devious idea unfolding behind his eyes. She shook her head at him and he chuckled.

"I considered it. My Old Lady, here," she joked, gesturing to Juice, who threw her a sarcastic look, "Didn't think it was a good idea."

Happy chuckled at that and took a good swig of his drink. Juice glanced between the pair, unnerved by their easy familiarity once more. He caught sight of his little brunette making her way through the center of the party, and the sudden eye contact seemed to renew her interest, drawing her close once again. Alice watched the ensuing schmoozing with some amusement, smirking at the way Juice seemed to be torn between taking the girl up on her persistent offers, and not wanting to leave his friend alone at a party full of people she barely knew.

"You know where to find me," was the girl's last, lingering offer as she leaned in to his ear, biting her bottom lip suggestively before she walked away. Both the men and the women remaining turned to look at Juice, wondering what the hell was wrong with the kid that he would turn down such a delicious offer.

Alice sighed, then chuckled to herself. "Go on. Go let the pretty girl blow you, Juicy. I'll still be here when you get back."

He turned to her, brown doe-eyes wide at the suggestion, cheeks turning red; but his feet were already moving in that direction. She just smiled and gave him a playful wave as he finally went to enjoy himself.

"Not often you hear that from a woman."

She turned back to face Tig, watching him struggle to balance his beer against his swollen cheek as he attempted to remove his hand wraps. The corner of her mouth turned up and she stepped towards him, taking his beer and freeing up his other hand. She pressed it against his face as she drank from her own. He stared down at her for a moment, grateful for the gesture. Happy had since disappeared with his own prize for the night, leaving the pair alone by the ringside.

"You fight?" Tig asked her.

"When I can," she replied with a smile, before cocking her head as she considered her own words, adding, "When I have to. Nothing professional. Rarely recreational. Would you have agreed to take me on?"

He stared at her.

"In the ring," she clarified, and he smirked. It proved to be infectious.

"Nah, I don't hit women."

"I figured."

His bright blue eyes continued to search her face as she sipped her beer and observed the party, bottle still pressed to his bruised skin. She had made a bit more of an effort in her appearance for the night, with smoky brown eyeshadow and a bit of mascara, her hair running sleek and shiny down past her jaw. The touch of make-up accentuated her eyes, which in his opinion were her best feature. They were a shade of blue slightly darker than his own; big and almost innocent-looking – but whatever purity they had once held had since been corrupted, and it was that streak of deviousness that he found alluring. He wanted to see how far that depravity extended.

He took the beer back from her now and took a long gulp, pulling a face when the warm liquid hit his tongue.

"Gonna go grab a cold one. Want another one?" he offered.

"Sure. Should probably find some ice for that face, too. Happy did a real number on you."

"He got just as good as he gave," Tig defended, as if she'd somehow bruised his ego with the comment. She rolled her eyes.

"Come on, I'll give you a hand."

He stared at her again and she shook her head.

"With the ice."

"Right."

Smirking to himself, he slipped an arm around her shoulders – a gesture he was beginning to grow a little too comfortable with – and allowed her to lead the way.

* * *

The scene they were met with inside the clubhouse was passionately chaotic. There was a brawl going on towards the back of the room by the pool table, more than likely over some perceived con during a game. One of the sweetbutts was getting eaten out on a sofa by a man Alice assumed was from a different charter, since he didn't look familiar – she hadn't seen his mugshot up on the wall, so unless he was a particularly well-behaved member, he wasn't SAMCRO. There was another pair standing over by the hallway, the man leaning back against the wall as a croweater knelt in front of him, her head bobbing back and forth. Alice was glad to see that it wasn't Juice on the receiving end, guessing that he had at least managed to make it back to his dorm first.

Tig glanced back at her as he stepped behind the bar, checking her reaction to the debaucherous scene. She seemed unfazed. He smiled and passed her a fresh, cold beer.

Noticing his expression, she explained, "Juice did say he was going to give me a taste of his side of life..." She trailed off, shrugging as she took a seat on one of the bar stools and continued to look around. Behind her, the woman on the couch had started to grow rather vocal under the man's ministrations.

"Juicy's side of life? Please, that kid is tame. I oughta give you a taste of my side of life."

"Okay."

He had his bottle raised halfway to his mouth as he stared at her. The look on her face was perfectly calm, maybe with a hint of challenge to it just to see what he would do.

"Seriously?"

She nodded as she swallowed a mouthful of beer.

"I mean, if you're offering."

He perked up a little at that, straightening from his position leaned up against the counter, eyes darting around as he considered his next move. He got the feeling from her that she liked to fuck around with people, and this was really starting to feel like one of those moments.

"First, let's get some ice on that face. Then we'll see what other uses we can find for it."

He felt himself stiffen in his pants and quickly drained the remainder of his bottle. Alice chuckled when he smacked it down on the wooden countertop.

"For the ice, or for my face?"

She cocked an eyebrow, leaving that decision up to him.

* * *

Sitting on the edge of the bed in one of the free dorms, she waited while he took a quick shower, the sound of the flowing water calming her nerves. It wasn't the idea of spending the night with someone new that was bothering her. There was something niggling at the back of her mind – other feelings struggling to be heard before she could make a permanent mistake. It couldn't have been about Juice. She knew how long he'd had feelings for her, noticed every time he willed himself to make a move before his own nerves got the better of him. She had made the decision years ago that they could never work as anything other than friends; a platonic relationship steadily maintaining the love and respect that they'd always had for each other. Tig was right when he said the boy was tame. Juice was one of the purest, sweetest people she knew; a true empath when it came to the people who deserved it, and she just couldn't imagine bringing him into her world. Sure, life at SAMCRO entailed brutal violence on an almost daily basis, along with the occasional murder; but it wasn't the same as the cold, calculating suffering she inflicted for her clients. What he had seen barely scratched the surface – she wasn't about to expose him to the really fucked up side of Frankie.

Forcing herself to keep her mind in the moment, Alice undressed, leaving only her bra and underwear. She sat down on the bed once more, resting back on her elbows and closing her eyes to still her turbulent mind. She was so deep in thought she hadn't noticed the water turn off, and it was only when she heard the click of the adjoining bathroom door opening that she opened her eyes again. Tig was standing in the doorway, one hand on the towel around his waist as he gazed at her, taking in the view. She smiled over at him, but she knew immediately it would look forced, her thoughts confirmed as his eyebrows drew together. He moved towards her.

"You okay?" he asked, free hand reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze before smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. How's your face feeling?"

"Why don't we let your thighs be the judge?"

She chuckled and he knelt down in front of her, letting his towel fall away from his body. She peeked down at his length and glanced back up, biting her lip, but he was too enraptured by her own nakedness to notice. It was then that he did notice the cluster of scar tissue on her belly, where she had taken the piece of shrapnel years before. He ran his fingers down the soft skin of her arm, feeling her shiver beneath his touch, then reached down to touch the puckered flaw. He glanced back up at her but found she wouldn't meet his gaze, her face turned away as she exposed her worst physical imperfection to him. He touched a finger to her cheek, then leaned down to press his lips to the ragged scar, drawing a soft moan of appreciation from the young woman. Looking up at her again, he was pleased to find he finally had her attention and reached up to trace the long, thin scar on her face before decorating that with a kiss, too.

Unable to hold back any more, he grabbed her under the knees and flipped her down on her back, dragging off her underwear and tossing it over his shoulder before running his hands over the smooth skin of her long legs. He set them down over his shoulders.

"Welcome to my side of life, sweetheart," he told her, reveling in the giggle it drew from her before he buried his face between her legs. Any hesitation she had been feeling was quickly forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4: Tig (ii)

_Okay, here's the second part of my Tig chapter. This part does contain some stuff taken directly from the show, but in saying that, I will be deviating from canon. This will likely be the case for most of the story, where I'll stick to the original, canon storyline, but deviate here and there with Alice lending the crew a helping hand on some of their 'projects'._

 _Thanks again for your reviews, and let me know what you think about Tig and Alice. I have most of the story planned out, so it'll be interesting to know what pairings you guys like (if any) and where you'd like things to go. Here's to long chapter and uninterrupted inspiration!_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **TIG (ii)**

Juice stood at the bar the following morning nursing a cup of coffee and a nasty headache. After popping a couple of ecstasy with his pretty croweater, they had ended up in his dorm, and what had ensued had been a little more than Alice's proposed blowjob. After downing a few shots, they had gone back for another round, quickly coming down not long after that. He had been racked with guilt upon waking – despite the arm of the lovely woman draped across his naked chest, it was not the woman he would have wished to wake up to; he had left Alice to fend for herself. As one of the first ones up, many of the men still scattered around the clubhouse in various stages of sobriety, waking and undress, he had yet to find anyone to ask about his friend's fate.

Just as he was taking out his cellphone to call her, the woman herself appeared from around the corner, yawning widely into her hand before making an attempt to smooth out her hair. She was still wearing the same faded _Led Zeppelin_ t-shirt from the night before, as well as her black jeans and combat boots, but somewhere along the way her black leather jacket had gone missing.

"You stayed last night?" he asked her, brow furrowed curiously. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing him, and that was his first indicator that something was awry. She nodded, quickly recovering, and took a seat in front of him.

"Yeah, I was pretty far gone by the end of it," she lied.

It was then that Tig appeared carrying her jacket, looking refreshed after a night of rare, peaceful sleep. He placed the jacket on the counter next to her and smoothed her hair back behind her ear, a gesture as casual as it was intimate.

"First time I haven't had to ask the woman to leave first," he joked, and she smiled. "Want some coffee?"

"Please."

"I do like a girl with manners."

Juice looked on with barely-masked horror.

"Yo, prospect!" Tig called, "A coffee for the lovely lady."

A young man sitting at the other end of the bar, face resting in his folded arms atop the counter, jumped to attention upon hearing the order given by a patched member, rubbing his face as he fought to stay awake.

"Huh?"

Tig pulled a mocking face, and though the behavior seemed cruel, Alice could see he was only teasing. Juice had told her stories about the way they'd treated him when he was a prospect – this was all part of the initiation.

"Coffee. Now."

"How's she take it?" the kid asked, dragging himself away from his resting place, voice slurring with sleep.

"How do you take it?" Tig resounded.

She smirked at him. "Same as my men."

"Alright. White with a big cock, coming up," he smiled.

When she had stopped laughing enough to answer the poor kid, Alice told him, "Black. Two sugars." She watched him disappear into the kitchen and turned back to the tormenter. "You guys recruiting fresh out of the womb now?"

The kid returned with two steaming mugs, placing one down in front of Tig without having to be asked.

"Yeah, he does have that baby-face thing going, doesn't he?" he replied, pinching the boy on the cheek as he crinkled his nose. "Hey, Half-Sack, you met Frankie yet?"

The kid shook his head, rubbing the spot Tig had grabbed him. He still managed to hold out a hand, which Alice took, giving him a reassuring smile. The boy returned it, sensing her sympathy.

"She might be doing some work for us," Tig explained to him.

"Like, in the shop?"

"Nah. Other stuff."

The kid knew better than to ask questions.

"Half-Sack, huh?" Alice said to him, "Do I want to know how you earned that nickname?"

His expression turned bashful and he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, I got a, uh, one of my balls blown off in Iraq." His eyes widened as he watched her expression change.

"You're a vet?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

She stood up from her chair then, and lifted her t-shirt to reveal the nasty looking patch of deep scar tissue to the right of her belly button. Rather than be repulsed, Half-Sack came around the side of the bar for a closer look. Even Juice leaned further over the counter. He had heard the story behind the scar, but had never seen it. Now that he had, he really felt for her and what she had gone through. The wound that had caused that would had to have been pretty horrific.

"Whoa. That's sick."

"IED. Took out my transport. Had to keep a hand pressed to it to keep things from spillin' out, you know?"

The kid paled for a moment, but that didn't quell his curiosity.

"Oh shit, where-"

"Afghanistan. A little before your time."

"Yeah, I guess so." He hadn't been able to take his eyes off the scar, but recognized the look of warning in Tig's eyes when he met the older man's gaze. To help him out a bit, Alice pulled back her sleeve to show him her Marine Corps tattoo; a dark-haired pin-up girl straddling an M16, with 'USMC' written across her rather large, t-shirt covered bust. In a small bit of scroll above her were the words 'DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR'.

"You gotta be shittin' me," Tig said, thrusting out his arm to show her the tatt on his inner forearm – a naked lady standing in front of a dagger with the same words on similar scrollwork. He held it up beside hers and they laughed. "That's fuckin' hot," he grinned.

"How come I didn't see that last night?"

"You were facing away from me for most of it," he half-joked. She shot him a look and whacked him playfully in the arm, before focusing on drinking her slowly-cooling coffee, sending Half-Sack a quick nod of thanks for it. He smiled in return with a new respect for the mysterious woman.

Remembering the expression she had spotted on Juice's face after Tig's unexpected attentiveness, she looked back, deciding to turn the tables on him.

"So how was your night, Juicy? Either that was a really long blowjob, or you guys had some real fun."

He blushed, a sheepish grin growing on his face. "Yeah, well. Got a little carried away. Sorry for ditching you."

"What are you talking about?" Tig said, "Best decision you made all night."

Alice exchanged a look with her friend, but she could still see the disappointment hidden behind his eyes as he stared down into his half-empty mug. She'd have to iron that one out a little later.

* * *

Gemma Teller-Morrow proved to be one of the most intimidating women Alice had ever met, and for that she held a lot of respect for her. After a night of dubious fun, Alice had been glad to remember her ride was still waiting in the garage; a convenient escape before the questions began to flow. Alice approached the office, catching sight of the older woman inside, admiring the way her highlights interspersed with her darker locks. Gemma was in the middle of looking over some paperwork, when the unfamiliar girl appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, I'm-"

"Frankie, right?" she guessed, lips pursed as she looked her up and down, taking in her 'morning-after' look. "Juice's friend?"

Despite being in her early-fifties, Gemma had the style and appeal of a woman half her age. Alice could only hope she looked that good when she reached that age. Alice nodded, trying her best to meet the woman's gaze when she could, knowing any sign of weakness with this one would be the death of any kind of bond they might form.

"Tig's friend too, huh?" Gemma went on.

Alice swallowed. Too late.

"And Happy's, from what I hear."

She might as well wave goodbye to any level of respect she could have hoped for – at this point she was just another croweater or sweetbutt to the woman. She had dug her own grave without even realizing she was holding the shovel.

Mind still reeling from the night of alcohol and sex, Alice fought to come up with some kind of reasonable response. Luckily for her, Gemma hadn't been waiting for one.

"Yours is the Dodge?" she asked her, voice lapsing inexplicably from judgmental to all business.

"Yeah."

"Nice ride."

"Thanks."

She turned and grabbed the keys off the hook, passing over a clipboard with paperwork to fill out. Alice did so in silence, occasionally glancing up, met each time with an expectant gaze from the woman. When she was done, she handed the clipboard back and dug around in her small handbag for her purse.

"Cash okay?" she asked.

"That's fine."

She handed over the money, took the keys, and then hesitated, wondering what way to best end the already awkward encounter.

"It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah," Gemma replied with that same barely-concealed level of condescension that easily matched her husband's. "You too."

Stepping out of the clubhouse, Clay caught sight of the mercenary leaving his wife's office, then caught Gemma's unimpressed expression. Looking slightly thwarted, Alice still managed to give him a nod and a forced smile before waving to Tig, who was seated on his bike getting ready to run some errands. Clay noticed the way her smile turned a little more genuine for the other man, and turned towards his friend.

"You hit that last night?" he asked.

"Of course I did."

Clay just shook his head. He could already feel the trouble starting, and with all the shit with the Mayans, the One-Niners, and now the Nords, the last thing he needed was some internal beef over a woman.

"Unser just called, too," he told him, "We got a protection run."

"Yeah." Tig looked thoughtful for a moment. He'd been sitting on his little secret for a while now, and now seemed as good a time as any to let his president in on it. Especially when it was something that could end up effecting them all.

"What?" Clay asked, catching the man's expression.

"I got something I gotta tell you, man. Could be bad."

Clay sighed, mentally preparing himself for a new shitstorm. If Tig thought it was bad, it had to be really bad.

"Those two dead Mexicans in the warehouse? I was hitting them."

"Jesus Christ." He gave a second, more exasperated sigh. "Both of them?"

"Yeah. Kind of a taco twofer thing."

"Tell me one of them doesn't have a bellyful of Tigger juice."

"Afraid they both do," Tig replied, voice apologetic as he waited for the fury to hit.

"You did time, shithead! Your DNA's in the database! Forensics team get a hold of them dead bodies…"

"I'll go pull'em outta there," he told him, not willing to allow his indiscretion to become the other man's problem.

"They'll be watching the place day and night!"

"What about Trammel? He's county sheriff, right? Outranks local PD?"

"So you're just gonna stroll out of there, with two dead Mexi whores draped over your shoulders?"

"I'll gut those two dead bitches, flush their bellies out with bleach. No more DNA."

Clay just stared at him, brow pulled down into a disgusted frown. "What kind of nasty shit did your mama do to you?" he asked the unaffected biker.

Tig shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"Geez. I hope Lady Merc made you wrap it up. If she knew half the places your dick's been."

"You know, honestly, I don't think she'd care," he replied thoughtfully, mind drifting back the night they'd shared. Normally he was a 'hit it and quit it' kind of guy, but all he seemed to be able to think about was when he might be able to get her into bed again. He couldn't explain it. It could have had something to do with the wonderful look on Juice's face when he'd realized what his little crush had gotten up to, but surely he wasn't that petty. He smirked.

"We gotta bring this to the table," Clay went on, "Shit gets out, this club is done for. Hope it was worth it brother."

Tig gave a resigned nod and watched his president walk away, feeling the disappointment rolling off the man. He glanced up when he heard the familiar rumble of the Dodge's engine and watched it peel out of the lot, the one good thing he'd had going for him that day disappearing out of sight.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, brother?" Chibs asked.

"I was thinking about getting my dick sucked twice."

Tig was in the middle of his Church confessions, facing off against his brothers' judgement as his little indiscretion was brought to light. They had all gotten pretty used to his perverted nature, and put up with it because it never affected the club or any of them personally. Since this time things were a little different, he sat suffering under the heavy gazes of each of the men. Juice's gaze was particularly intense, barely able to believe this was the same man Alice had chosen to spend the night with. He would have even rather it been Happy than the man who had just admitted to barebacking two illegals. God, he hoped they had used protection.

"All anybody can prove is that two brownie's swallowed your chum and died hiding from a fire. You didn't kill anyone," Bobby reasoned.

"It's not about the manslaughter rap," Jax said, "The CSU team tests those bodies, Tig's DNA puts the gun factory right at our doorstep."

"And the ATF takes up permanent residence in our collective rectums," Juice added. The Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms had been the bane of every club's existence since the very beginning, using every sneaky, sleazy measure they could to try and pin whatever crime they could on the members, up to and including crimes they hadn't even committed.

Clay shook his head. The local police chief, Wayne Unser, had been a friend of the club for a long time, and had helped them out with a number of misdemeanors; but now that he was nearing retirement, his replacement, Deputy David Hale, was becoming a little more 'active' in the community. Unlike his predecessor, Hale wasn't the type to simply look the other way – he saw himself as the leader of a new era in Charming – an era without SAMCRO – and he seemed hell-bent on making his dream a reality.

"That warehouse sits on county property. It's gonna take Hale days to get San Joaquin to shake loose a forensics team."

"It's a local case," Juice countered. "County won't get involved. Hale'll just end up borrowing a crime scene unit from Lodi."

"Big Otto's sister still works for the A.D.A. in Lodi," Jax said to him, remembering their valuable contact. Big Otto was an old member currently serving time for the club. He had been one of the Original Nine, an old and reliable friend of Clay's and Jax's father. Jax looked to Juice, "Call her, see if we got a forensics team heading this way." Juice gave a nod and the VP turned back to Clay. "We could use Frankie for this."

The others looked over, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty at the suggestion. Clay frowned.

"Let me talk to Unser. Maybe I can convince him to put a leash on his hyperactive deputy."

"Unser's just waiting for the clock to run out," Jax argued, "Frankie offered one free job. She gets in, gets out, does her thing. One less headache for us all. It'd be a lot easier than jumpin' through all these hoops."

Clay glanced first at Tig to see how the idea sat with him, but the man was staring off, a distant look in his eyes. He then glanced over at Juice, and was sure the boy looked almost hopeful at the idea of his initiative finally reaching fruition.

"I'll talk to Unser first," Clay repeated, but Jax could tell from his tone that he was considering the idea. It was club business, but they had enough on their plate as it was with the protection detail and the situation with the Mayans and the Nords, whatever that turned out to be – it was still something they would have to investigate further, once things had settled down with Hale. Anything to avoid giving the ATF an excuse to start up an investigation. In that regard, the feds were like a bad case of herpes; they never really went away.

* * *

Jax had been right. After a brief chat with the cancer-ridden police chief, Clay found himself seriously considering his stepson's suggestion. Like Chibs, he still didn't quite trust the woman, but they were running out of options by this point, not to mention time. Otto's sister had confirmed a forensics team scheduled to arrive the following morning. If they were going to do anything, now was the time.

He had Juice call her in, asking that he give her no details over the phone on the off chance she wasn't smart enough to use a burner; but it was just another of the many ways he underestimated the woman. She now stood towards the back of the Chapel, leaning back against the door, arms folded against her chest, as the group of men stared over at her. She wasn't about to seek a seat at the table, already getting the feeling she was intruding on their sacred space. Her eyes moved to Juice, his presence giving her some comfort at least. She was by no means frightened by the men of SAMCRO, being more than capable of defending herself in the event of violence; but she could feel the edgy energy all around.

"We've decided to take you up on your offer," Clay explained. She cocked her head slightly, intrigued. Of course there wasn't really any other reason they would be inviting her into the clubhouse on such short notice, but considering they had been partying only hours before, she wondered what could have happened to throw them into such sudden disarray.

"What are we talking?" she asked.

"A few days ago, one of our warehouses was blown up."

"By the Mayans. Right."

Clay threw Juice an immediate look of betrayal, but the blonde was quick to quell his distrust.

"He didn't say anything" she assured the president, "Let's just say I like to keep up-to-date with current events. Juice isn't the only one who can hack a database."

Juice smiled at her. He was the one that had taught her a lot of tricks when it came to using computers to gather intel, though she had since grown so used to her own violent means of finding things out.

"So what about this warehouse has you in need of my assistance?"

Clay smirked at her business-like tone. He wasn't about to forget the fact she'd fucked his Sergeant-at-Arms only hours before in the very same building. Kind of blew the whole 'professional' image.

"Turns out we had a couple of stowaways. Two illegals."

"Just the two?"

Clay frowned at her passive tone.

"Uh, yeah. Just the two. That not enough for you?"

She smirked, the expression tinged with sarcasm.

"Did you know they were in there?"

"Not exactly."

Frankie frowned. "Is there any way of tying them back to the MC in particular? This is all sounding very circumstantial right now."

"Actually…" She looked over at Tig, who wouldn't meet her gaze for a moment. "There is."

Her expression changed as she realized what he was getting at. "Tell me you didn't…"

"Yeah, I did," he admitted. His eyes finally flicked over to meet hers, but he found her hard to read. He couldn't tell if it was disgust or disappointment on her face.

"Hope you kiddies used protection," Chibs joked darkly. Frankie bowed her head as most of the others smirked at the comment, save for Tig, who was eyeing the Scotsman in an odd way, and Juice who, despite enjoying Tig's suffering through all this, still couldn't help but feel his friend's embarrassment. That's when he noticed the small smile on her face. Was she actually getting some sort of twisted amusement out of this? When she looked up again, her expression was all business once more, and thought for a moment maybe he'd imagined the smirk.

"Can I at least assume they were both female?"

Tig looked over at her, fingers tapping lightly against the smooth wood of the Chapel's table. There were titters around the table at the remark.

"Yeah, doll."

"And are we talking swallow or bareback?" she asked, not breaking from his gaze.

Clay was growing uncomfortable watching the two as they spoke, feeling as though he was bearing witness to some kind of freaks foreplay, and despite the topic and the situation, Tig actually felt himself growing hard at her straightforward, crude manner of speaking.

"Bit of both."

She nodded.

"Would it make a difference?" Clay asked.

"In terms of method of disposal, yes," she replied. "What's our window on this? I'm assuming you brought me in because you're short on time?"

"Yeah," Jax said, "We got the Lodi forensics due in the morning. The deputy, Hale, he'll have a guard detail watching over the place for the night. Might have trouble getting in there."

"Trouble?" she smiled, "You're not hiring me for trouble, Teller. I'll be in and out, just like Tig when he was getting you into this situation."

There were chuckles around the room, and when she glanced around, she found that even Chibs was suppressing a smirk. She would find a way to win him over eventually, she was sure of it.

"Now, with what I've got in mind, I'll have to move the cargo to a secondary location. On the off chance the forensics team arrives early to case the scene and set up, I'm going to find myself in a spot of trouble. They find the bodies missing, they're going to do one of two things. First, set up road blocks, meaning I don't get through, I get caught, and I wind up having to explain why it is I have two illegals wrapped up in my trunk like a couple of crispy burritos. Second, they'll raid this place, assuming you knew about the stowaways, maybe arrest you all on suspicion to obstruct a coroner. Or if this guy's as bad as you say he is, he'll probably do both. Meaning we're all fucked. Not that they have any way of connecting me to you. But they get the bodies, they get Tig's DNA, they figure out why it is you have someone destroying their evidence. Picking up what I'm putting down?"

"What we need is a distraction," Jax said now, looking thoughtful. He glanced up at her and she was almost surprised to see a kind of calm intelligence behind the boy's eyes. His looks and puffed up attitude had clouded her judgement at first. She saw now that he was actually smarter than she gave him credit for. "We need another murder in Lodi."

She nodded her appreciation of the plan. "Works for me. I'm assuming you guys have plenty of beefs to settle in the area?"

"You offering to settle some for us?" Clay asked.

"You point, I shoot."

He chuckled.

"Only problem is, the window is a little small. I can't be in two places at once. Pick a job you want me on, I'm there."

"You stick to the two in the warehouse," Jax told her, "We'll take care of the crime scene. I think I may have a way of doing this without spilling any more blood."

The others threw him incredulous looks, as if he were denying them the best part of the whole plan.

"Out of curiosity, you wouldn't be able to find us a couple of fresh bodies, would you? We can make the pick-up ourselves."

"Maybe. Though, I can't guarantee Tig hasn't also fucked those."

That earned her a few more laughs, and she locked eyes with the man in question once more. His gaze was intense, but unoffended. Juice appeared particularly tickled by these comments, after enduring a week of verbal torture at the new victim's hands.

"If I had more time, I probably could. I know a couple of morticians who owe me favors."

"You do?" Tig piped up, looking a little too interested in that fact.

"Why do I get the feeling I'll be destroying four bodies before the night's through?" she asked, and Jax chuckled. She was starting to get a pretty good idea of what Juice had been referring to when he had warned her not to go there, but she couldn't say she regretted sleeping with him. She had seen a different side of him the night before, something oddly vulnerable about his behavior, not to mention that haunted look he often got in his eyes which left her wondering what kinds of horrible, fucked up things he had borne witness to. He was the sort of crazy she really wanted to get to know, and she had no idea what that said about her.

"Actually, we know a guy, too," Jax pondered.

"You talking about Skeeter?" Juice asked, receiving a nod in return.

"He's always got more gambling debt than he can handle."

"The cemetery guy?" Clay confirmed, looking thoughtful. He had to admit, the plan was pretty decent.

"Cash for cadavers," Jax said.

Frankie furrowed her brow. "Sounds like a really unsuccessful pop-up stall in the mall."

Jax smirked. "It'll give us what we need to create the crime scene, anyhow. So alls you need to do is grab those dead Mexicans and do your thing."

"Done deal," she smiled.

"Think you'll need a hand?"

"If you can spare, Tig. Let the man help me clean up his mess."

Tig looked over, surprised she still willingly wanted anything to do with him after this whole fiasco. He had been convinced he would at least have to do a little sweet talking to coax her back into his bed. When he thought about it, this probably wasn't the worst thing she'd ever had to do. He wondered if she'd ever gotten really freaky with that chair of hers, and with that his thoughts began to drift.

"Yeah, I'll come along," he assured her.

"Alright. Jax, Chibs and Juice, you go put the cops to shame with your crime scene re-creation abilities. Take the prospect with you. Tig's with Frankie. The rest of us have the protection detail with Unser."

The scraping of chairs signified the close of another meeting, as everyone rose to prepare for their assigned tasks. Frankie remained where she was as the men filed out through the door beside her, shooting Juice a smile as he passed, glancing up when Tig approached.

"Anything I need to bring besides gloves?" he asked her.

"Maybe a little self-control."

He grinned at her, giving her a gentle, playful pat on the shoulder. "Sure. I'll see if I can track some down." He continued on passed her, her gaze trailing after him before coming back to meet Clay's.

"You know, I don't understand how, even after all that, you could still be flirtin' with him."

She smirked. "Guess you just don't know me too well, Clay."

"I guess not." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "You're doin' the club a real solid with this. 'Preciate it."

Was that gratitude?

"Yeah, well, maybe if I do a good enough job, you'll consider me for future work. _Paid_ work."

"Yeah, sure. But for now, let's cash in that coupon."

* * *

It was pitch dark by the time they pulled up on the outskirts of the burnt-out property, opting to both travel in Frankie's Dodge rather than having Tig draw attention on his bike. It would have made things a little too obvious to any patrols set up around the area. Unser had managed to clear them some time for the body removal, calling the guards off on the pretense that the forensics team would be arriving early, and that they didn't want any chance of further contamination to the scene. It was a plausible excuse from the chief of police, and what Hale didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

They got to work laying out a tarp, and readying the trunk of the car for its incoming cargo. Frankie allowed Tig to lead the way towards the warehouse's utilities hatch.

"Moment of truth," she said, as they both crouched down, preparing to pull back the door. The burnt out corpses were still there, the two women clutching each other, their final desperate moments preserved in death.

"You know what I love about arson victims?" Frankie asked, dropping down into the hole beside them, moving back into a crouching position as she looked the bodies over. She looked back up at Tig, who seemed mesmerized by her every move.

"What's that?" he replied.

"Fire is cleansing. Renders the body unsuitable for most bacterial growth, meaning less smell, slower decay."

"I did notice that."

He watched as she took the first woman by the arm and dragged her off her friend, before hooking one hand under their knees and the other around their waist, pulling the body close to her own.

"You sure you don't want me to do that?"

"Just take her. Put her over on the tarp."

He was surprised by her show of strength as she managed to lift the body up over the edge of the pit, attributing it to her years in the Corps. Her body was pretty well-defined for a woman, more so than the ones he was used to sleeping with at least, but there was something about a shared stint in the military that had him wishing this job would finish a little sooner, so he could try getting her back to the clubhouse dorms once again.

Once they had the bodies out and rolled up in the trunk, they closed the lid on the trapdoor and left the warehouse, ensuring nothing was out of place. Unser had given them the heads up that Hale had sent out the guards once more after seeing them back at the station. Apparently he'd made quite a show about disobeying orders, and now the men were double-timing it back to the scene.

"Time for stage two," Frankie said to Tig as he hung up on the chief, slamming her trunk closed.

* * *

"I wonder how the other kids are doin' with their little art project," she pondered as she took the next exit off the highway. Tig had no idea where they were headed, but he was suitably intrigued.

"Kids? You're already startin' to sound like Gemma. You meet her yet?"

"Yeah. I don't think she was too impressed by my whole walk of shame," Frankie chuckled.

"No shame in what we did, baby," Tig replied, relaxing back into his seat, eyes moving from the road to roam around the interior of her car. It was spotless inside, as if had come straight from the dealer. Her meticulous nature reminded him a little of Juice, and wondered if that's something that had drawn them together in the first place. "Gemma's a good girl. Looks after everyone. She was probably looking out for me."

"And Juice. And Happy. She knew about Happy."

"Clay probably told her. Shit like that's good gossip."

She chuckled and took another turn. "Cause that's what I picture you guys doin' most of the day. Bunch of boys on their bikes, gossiping like bored housewives, throwing the occasional punch."

"Well, you're not far off," Tig joked back.

They sat in silence for the next few miles, before Frankie reached back for her bag and pulled out an iPod, handing it over to Tig.

"Can you plug that in? That red cord right there. Yeah, that's the one."

He watched the screen light up and looked back at her for further instructions, not used to the modern technology. He was still more of a tape kind of guy, even vinyl if he was feeling particularly nostalgic.

"It should have all my playlists. There's one I use for jobs…"

"' _My Happy Tunes'_ ," he read off the screen.

"That's the one."

He threw her a look.

"Unrelated," she assured him with a smirk. "It's just a little less conspicuous than ' _Frankie's Murder Jams'._ "

"Fair enough." He pressed the play button and set the iPod down as Cream's _Sunshine of Your Lov_ _e_ began to sound through the speakers. "You listen to this stuff while you're, like, cutting people up?"

She nodded. "It's a trick I learned from an old mentor. They did these studies in Guantanamo where they would play certain songs to prisoners while they were detained, or while they underwent interrogation. They would play the same song over and over again. Then they would leave the prisoners alone for a day or two. Then they played the same song over the loudspeaker in their cell. You ever heard of a guy named Pavlov?"

"Yeah, sure. The dog guy."

"Yeah. The technique's called 'classical conditioning'. You take an unconditioned response, like feeling fear when you see someone approaching you with a scalpel, for example, and you reprogram the person's brain to associate that response with a different stimuli. So you play a certain song to someone while someone else is cutting into them, they start to associate the pain with that song, rather than the instrument inflicting it."

"That's fucked up," Tig commented, looking utterly intrigued.

"Yeah, but the most interesting part was when they played that music over the prisoner's speakers when they weren't in any immediate danger. The prisoner's would break down. You'd get screamers, criers, hair-pullers; a bunch of suspected terrorists rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Some would even start digging at their own skin. You learn enough psychological tricks like that and the music does half the work for you."

"So that's what that was when we ran into you that first night? Guy had a fear o' Peaches?"

"Nah. I just like that song."

They both laughed and she pulled onto a dirt road, the car bumping along, presumably sending their cargo flying all around the trunk. She rolled the car to a stop in front of an old junkyard.

"Here?"

"Here," she smiled. "Welcome to my third locale."

* * *

Though the junkyard was vast and seemed to extend for at least half a mile each way, Frankie appeared to know exactly where she was going. She had Tig drop the bodies by a stack of empty, metal drums while she disappeared for a few minutes. She returned just in time to see him lighting up a cigarette, and made a disapproving noise, pushing an upright hand trolley stacked with two big, plastic containers of liquid.

"I have a few more of these to grab. Do me a favor and put them over by the girls."

"Need a hand?" he asked, taking her suggestion and stubbing the smoke out.

"You just keep an eye on the cargo."

"I don't think they're goin' anywhere."

She threw him a look, mouth turned up at the corner, and disappeared with the trolley once more.

By the time she was finished, they had six of the containers, and were now busying themselves with pulling two plastic drums out from behind the pile of rusty metal ones.

"You keep all this here?" he asked her. She nodded, focusing on the task. "The owner know about this?"

"I helped him out with something a while back. He's cool. Hang on, I just gotta grab some stuff from the car."

He was a little surprised when she returned wearing an industrial respirator mask and goggles with gloves and a protective suit.

"Sexy, right?" she joked, her voice muffled by the mask.

"If I'm being honest, a little," he replied, and she chuckled. His brow was furrowed as he took in the outfit. "Should I be wearing something to?"

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't think you liked using protection."

He gave a sarcastic laugh and took a few steps back to collect the bodies.

"What do I do?"

"Dump 'em." She gestured to the barrels. He didn't have to be told twice, dropping one body into each one.

"Now what?"

"You're gonna want to take a few steps back. There's a reason lye comes with a reputation for this sort of work." Catching his unsure look, knowing he wasn't the sort to leave others to finish a job alone, she added, "I usually do this shit on my own. I'm good."

He nodded and stepped away. He watched from a distance as she poured the liquid into the barrels, catching the look of exertion on her face every time she had to lift and hold up one of the huge containers. They had to hold at least a few gallons each. He had to admit, he was impressed.

When she was finally done, she sealed off each drum and disposed of the containers, gesturing for him to come over. "I've got a little bunker not too far from here. Reckon you could wheel these down for me? I'll lead the way."

"Why, you tired?" he teased, seeing the sheen of sweat covering her face, smirking at her exasperated look.

"No, shithead. I just got tired of watching your lazy ass standing over there doing nothing. This is your fucking mess."

"Please," he replied, taking hold of the handles of the trolley and hoisting up the first barrel, "You'd never get tired of watching this ass." As if to prove it he moved ahead leading the way to a location he didn't know.

She waited until he was a good distance away before calling out, "Actually, it's the other way!"

He stopped, dipped his head and then turned back to catch her laughing.

* * *

There were dozens of them.

Tig had to pause for a moment as the reality of Frankie's work began to sink in. The deep, spacious bunker lay towards the back of the junkyard, its rusty doors chained and hidden beneath purposely-placed debris. He had caught sight of the rows of other barrels the moment she pulled back the doors.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Yeah," she replied solemnly, "It's been a busy year. Reckon you can help me get these two down there?"

He wanted to say no, to refuse to leave the two girls to rest in such a cold, dark place – they had been pretty good to him while they were alive, after all – but he wasn't about to get sentimental over a couple of easy illegals. They rolled the barrels down in silence, almost as if in respect for the two unfortunate victims, but in reality, Frankie just wanted to get it over and done with. She was glad to have someone with her for this part for once – the bunker gave her the creeps whenever she was down there.

"Anything you want to say?" she asked now, as they stood outside, looking down into the depths of the yawning hole. Tig looked thoughtful for a moment as he considered their final resting play. He closed his eyes as he thought about the part he'd played in landing them in there.

"May a ray of sunshine find you and warm your souls," he said quietly.

Frankie was looking at him with barely masked wonder, amazed that such a beautiful sentiment could come from the same man who had pumped and dumped the two women to begin with. He continued to surprise her.

"Amen," they said together, before closing the doors and resetting the chains.

They walked back towards the car in silence, minds equally heavy but for very different reasons. Frankie hoped Juice was doing okay with his detail. She made a mental note to call him when she could, just to check in. Not that she wanted to start acting like his goddamn Old Lady or anything; she could just do with hearing his voice after the latest foray in her personal graveyard.

"You're good at this," she heard Tig say. She looked over at him.

"Thanks? I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

"It is," he assured her, "But more an observation. I'll let Clay know things went smoothly. Should buy you more work down the track."

"Appreciate it."

They continued on in silence, nothing but the crunch of their boots on the gravel and the occasional squeak of a rusty hinge blowing back and forth in the cool night breeze to permeate the quiet. It was oddly comfortable.

"You know, you've basically seen all the shit I keep hidden from people. All the scars, the literal skeletons in the closet. By this point, you've seen more than Juice," she told him, as if only realizing this herself.

"Guess we better start planning the wedding," he joked, and she chuckled.

"Hey." He looked at her with a curious frown, a little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "Name's Alice." She stuck out her hand and he just looked at it for a moment. Surely, given everything they had been through already, they were past such a formal gesture. He took it anyway, understanding the level of trust she'd have to have in him to reveal this piece of herself.

"Alexander."

She smiled to herself as they continued on and he found something about the expression endearing.

They finally reached the car and got in, Alice fixing her seat-belt, hands set to start it up, but she had gotten a distracted look on her face as if she had suddenly gotten an idea.

"You hungry?" she asked.

"I could eat."

"Let's say we get some dinner. I know a place not far from here. Nothing fancy. Makes a great burger, though."

"And let me guess. The pie's pretty good?" he replied.

She smirked and started up the car. "Nah. We can go back to my place afterwards for the pie."


	5. Chapter 5: Fun House

_Thank-you for all the kind words for the previous chapter. I'm going to try to keep updating when I can, while the inspiration is still with me (and hopefully without resulting in writing burnout). Just a quick note – it's a little personal, I guess – I'm currently taking a medication that's effecting my concentration and general cognitive function, so if anything in the story seems a little off, please let me know. Like I said, I'm always open to suggestions._

 _I'm also hoping the use of the two different names throughout the story is making sense. I use Frankie when she's in business mode or with someone who is yet to find out her real name, and Alice when she's her usual self, or if she's with someone she's comfortable with. I think it's pretty clear, but just wanted to make sure it doesn't make the story difficult to follow or anything like that._

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **FUN HOUSE**

Alice awoke the following morning to the ringing of Tig's cell. They both groaned and untangled themselves from each other, Alice rolling onto her stomach and burying her head into her pillow. Peeking out at the man she had spent the second consecutive night with, she found him enjoying her childish reaction to the unexpected early-morning alarm.

"Yeah, Clay," he answered, grabbing a spare pillow and pressing it down playfully onto her face. She slapped at his hand and sat up, tempted to whip him back in the face with it. "Yeah, I'm all good. Everything went smoothly."

" _A little too smoothly, I'll bet,"_ Clay replied, chuckling. _"You still with Frankie?"_

"That I am, brother. We decided to pull an all-nighter."

Alice threw him a look and he grinned at her.

"I'll pull your all-nighter," she mumbled. He peeled back the covers and gestured to his half-hard cock with an expression that read 'by all means'. She narrowed her eyes, then seemed to get an idea. What better way to get him back for the pillow to the face then blowing him while he was on the phone to his president?

" _Don't forget we've got dinner, tonight. Gem's cooking. She'll wring your neck if you ditch for a bit of pussy."_

"Ain't gonna happen, boss. Tell her I'll be there."

Just as Alice was about to take him in her mouth, he hung up. He looked down at her expectantly, head cocked to the side, knowing her plan had been thwarted.

"You're terrible," he grinned, "You know that?"

Before she could reply, her burner began to vibrate on the bed stand. She moved to reach for it, but Tig got there first.

"Juicy boy," he smirked, before flipping it open. The look in his eyes was a challenge to her, daring her to continue with her plan while he was on the phone to her childhood friend. Well, she was never one to turn down a challenge. He bit back a groan as she slipped him into her mouth. "Hey, man, what's up?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Juice processed the meaning behind Tig answering his friend's phone.

"Well? Come on, spit it out, kid," Tig said. "No, not you. Smartass." He looked down at Alice, who was laughing to herself, one hand holding his cock, the other stifling the sound.

Juice, meanwhile, had picked up on exactly what was going on on the other end, and was moments away from upending his morning smoothie.

" _It's fine. Just checking in. I'll call back later."_

He hung up.

"I don't think he sounded very happy," Tig told her.

"Yeah, well. He did warn me," she chuckled, pumping her hand up and down, taking him in her mouth once again. His hand immediately went to fist in her hair as he leaned back against the bedhead and closed his eyes.

"Warn you about what?" he managed to ask, voice tense beneath her touch.

She released him from her mouth with a slick 'POP'. "Not to go there with you."

"Well, in your defense, at least you took your time getting into bed with me," he teased. In response, she picked up speed, earning a pleasurable moan from him.

After he had eventually blown his load and they'd finally managed to drag themselves out of bed – but not before he had returned the favor at his own insistence – Alice disappeared to make coffee.

"I gotta ask," he said, when she returned carrying two steaming mugs as he tugged on his boots, "What's the deal between you and Juice? You ain't fucking, right?"

She handed him his coffee and took a seat beside him, leaving just enough distance to avoid seeming clingy. That just wasn't her – if anything, he'd been the one to initiate the post-coital cuddling the moment she had turned her back on him to get some sleep. She blew on her drink then sipped it thoughtfully.

"No, we aren't."

"So it's like a brother-sister kind of thing."

"Well, I mean, we have fucked before."

"So it's like a brother-sister kind of thing," Tig repeated, earning a repulsed look from her, which quickly dissolved into a smiling shake of the head when she caught his playful grin.

"You're disgusting."

"You know he wants you, right?"

"Am I that oblivious?" she chuckled, "He isn't exactly subtle. But yeah. I know. I just…" She shrugged.

"Don't want to ruin the friendship," Tig finished for her, sounding like the relationship advice column of _Cleo_ magazine.

The look she threw him then was almost worse than the one he'd received for the incest joke.

"Since when does sex ruin friendships? I mean, look at us. Best pals," she said sarcastically, pushing him playfully in the shoulder as she rose grab an outfit for the day. She paused for a moment and turned back to him. "He doesn't need to see what I do."

Tig's brows pulled together. "What do ya mean?"

"You said so yourself the other night. He's tame. He's the lightweight of the group." She shook her head. "I'm not about to bring him into my world."

"You're worried he wouldn't look at you the same." Tig's eyes grew distant as he considered his own words. "Yeah. I get that." He sipped his coffee, staring off with those haunted eyes of his.

"I'm going to grab a shower. Care to join?" He pulled himself out of his dark thoughts to look up at her, face breaking into a grin.

"Yeah, sure, doll. I'll meet you in there."

She nodded, a little concerned by his sudden turn in mood, but decided to focus instead on her day's schedule. It was going to prove to be a busy one.

"Hey, Al?"

She turned back, expression patient and curious.

"Why are you okay bringing me into it, then?"

She thought about this for a moment, then with a grim smile replied, "Because I think you can handle it."

* * *

" _I never meant to be so bad to you, one thing I said that I would never do. A look from you and I would fall from grace, and that would wipe the smile right from my face…"_

 _Asia_ 's _Heat of the Moment_ blasted from the speakers as the man in the chair began to squirm against his restraints, cries of desperation increasing in volume until he was screaming. Frankie sniffed as she watched the music do its work, leaning back casually against her workbench, arms folded against her chest.

"Please, I'll tell you anything, just turn it off."

She shook her head.

"That's what you said last time, Phil. Do I look like an idiot to you? No, seriously? I'm going to play this on repeat until I think you're ready to tell me what I need to hear. Besides, what's wrong with a bit of _Asia_?"

She smirked at him at his eyes plead with her for release – from the restraints or from existence, he really didn't care at this point. As she began to hum to the classic rock song, she felt her burner vibrate in her pocket.

"Yeah?"

"Is that _Asia_?"

She chuckled at the tone of Tig's voice.

"Yeah, it is."

"Do I wanna know?"

"Probably not."

He laughed.

"What's up?"

"We're heading out to this thing tonight, thought you might like to, you know, come down. Check things out."

"This sounds weirdly like a date, Tig."

"What?" he replied, tone incredulous.

She smiled. "What sort of 'thing' are we talking here?"

"It's a carnival. Just on the outskirts of Charming."

"You're right. Nothing like a date. Just two grown adults riding the Ferris wheel, downing some cotton candy."

"Well, I had something else in mind for the downing part, but sure, if that's your thing."

"I can't say I've ever blown a guy on a Ferris wheel."

"See, that's what I'm here for. Helping ladies tick things off their bucket list. What do you say?"

She smiled to herself. His inability to admit that he was practically asking her out was in itself endearing. "Yeah, sure. I should by free. One sec."

He heard movement over the line, then what sounded like sobbing.

" _You ready to tell me what I need to hear?"_

" _Yes, please. Please! Just turn the music off."_

" _I'm not buying it."_

Tig chuckled to himself. Frankie came back on the line. "It should be fine. I might just have to get a little more creative with this one." He heard the moans of protest increase and laughed again.

"You know, you are really fucked up. So we'll say around six?"

It was her turn to laugh. "Yeah, six sounds good. For a not-date."

"Shut up."

"See you then."

She hung up with the kind of goofy smile that could easily have outmatched one of Juice's. Then she pocketed her phone and turned back to her latest target, expression suddenly all-business and cold. She pulled on a pair of gloves, then her apron, all the while shooting methodical glances at the line-up of tools on her table. Picking up the scalpel, she turned back to the man in the chair.

"Now. Where were we?"

* * *

Alice was certain she hadn't been to a carnival in almost fifteen years. The last time she could recall was back when she and Juice were a couple of gawky teenagers looking for a place to cause mischief, and smoke without any adults catching them. Alice had given up the habit before joining the Marines, the decision also aiding her in her current line of work. The smell of cigarettes had the tendency to linger, and the butts were the perfect way to accidentally leave DNA behind at a crime scene. Not that she ever left anything behind to be considered a crime scene, or to alert the local authorities; but still, that paranoia of one tiny slip up always had her playing it extra safe. She had never served time and she planned on keeping it that way.

It was a little community event, something SAMCRO always made an effort to turn up to just to maintain a friendlier image around Charming. Alice hadn't really intended on seeing Tig again so soon, but then they never really seemed to plan the times they fell into each other's company. This being the first, Alice couldn't help but wonder if Tig was starting to enjoy that time together a little more than she had anticipated. She had taken him for a one-night stand kind of guy. Not that she minded the continual hook-ups, though; his twisted sense of humor and weird energy was a good match for her own, and almost had her feeling as comfortable as she did with Juice.

They strolled through the carnival lot now, excited kids milling around the rides, begging their parents for just one more token. There was the usual collection of cliché rides, ranging from the Ferris wheel, the standard miniature rollercoaster, the carousel, a line-up of rigged games, and a couple of photo booths. Tig hadn't tried dragging her over to the latter yet, but she was sure that when he did, it would be more out of the expectation of a quick handjob than for a memento of their day together. As if thinking along the same lines, Alice watched Gemma lead Clay towards one of the booths, the look in her eyes saying it all. She hadn't spoken much to Alice since she had joined the small group, and Alice had taken that as a suggestion not to try breaching that ever-growing rift between them, something she was okay with, at least for now.

She and Tig walked on with Jax and Bobby, exchanging comments about the sleazy looking carnies and some of the finer looking moms that were busy guiding their kids away from the overpriced novelty stalls. When Tig had mentioned to the boys that 'Frankie' would be joining them, they had all given him the same funny look.

"This becoming a thing now?" Clay had asked.

"She likes clowns," was all he had replied, thus reinforcing the men's opinion that the weird pair had found some bizarre common ground and were in the process of settling down on it.

But as they neared the dunk tank, they quickly found that Tig had been lying.

"Urgh, I fucking hate clowns."

Jax snorted and threw a quick, knowing smirk at the guilty looking Sergeant-at-Arms, then said, "Well, let's see if I can't fix that for you, darlin'."

The painted man that sat inside the dunk tank was busy calling crude taunts to a father and son, the father in the process of trying to hit the yellow button that would send the gross man into the water below. He didn't seem to notice the group of bikers awaiting their shot.

"Your daddy throws like your mommy!" he called to the boy, "He wear a bra and panties to your games, too?"

"Is this guy kidding?" Alice said, staring at the overweight, sweat-encrusted carnie. Jax paid the woman in charge of the balls and was handed three in return.

"Look at the big, bad bikers," the man teased, "Come to get Clowny all wet, huh?"

Jax took up his position a few yards out and attempted the first throw. It missed, earning a fit of laughter from the target. He lined up a second shot, egged on by his brothers, Tig with his arm thrown around Alice's shoulders.

"Come on, Jax. Come on."

He missed again.

"Hey, why don't you pass the balls to the girl, there? She looks like she's used to handling a few!"

Alice pressed a hand to Tig's chest to still him as he made a move towards the tank, ready to dunk the man himself. "Down boy," she told him, with a chuckle. She turned to Jax, but he was already holding out the last ball. They exchanged a smirk.

"Go for it," he told her.

"Ooh, they're sending out the girl. Hope you can throw better than your pretty friend there. Come on, sweetheart, that's it, try and get the ball in the tight little hole. Then maybe I can try to get mine in yours later."

She stepped up to the mark with an expression that may have changed his mind on that last part. The boys watched the clown's smirk falter and they exchanged looks. Alice lined up the shot throwing in an exaggerated pitcher's wind-up more for comic effect than anything. It wasn't until she heard the DING! that she realized what had happened. She threw her hands up and turned back to the others with a look of genuine surprise to match their own. They broke down into laughter as they looked back at the fat man bobbing around in the tank of water.

"Yeah, how's that, you fat fuck?" she called out to him, glancing at the mortified mother and son who were passing by. Tig clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back against him.

"She has tourettes," he told the woman with a grin he hoped passed as friendly, but she simply shook her head and hurried off, dragging her amused kid along with her.

"What the hell? I thought these things were supposed to be rigged?" she said to them, shrugging out of Tig's grasp.

"I guess they're not immune to that pitcher's arm o' yours," Bobby replied.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart," Tig grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. "Want to go hold him under a little?"

She smiled. "Sure."

Jax grinned as he watched the two run off, looking like a couple of teenagers. He glanced over at Bobby.

"When did that happen?" the older biker asked.

"No idea."

"Who'da thought you could bond so much over a couple of burnt tacos."

Jax chuckled and turned to find Juice approaching them. He and Chibs had been sent out on a little IRA-related errand for Clay, turning up late for the show. They stood for a moment, watching as Tig and Alice grabbed hold of a shoulder each and pressed the clown under the water, the pair giggling like a couple of kids. Juice turned back to the others.

"Can I at least assume he deserved that?" he said.

"Oh yeah," Bobby replied, "He most definitely did."

"You seen Clay?"

"He was over by the photo booths with Gemma," answered Jax. "Why? What's up?"

"The Irish are coming."

Bobby and Jax exchanged a look, then Jax looked over at Tig, gesturing for him to rejoin them. Tig gave the clown one final shove before hopping down off the tank, holding out a hand to help Alice down, too.

"Hey, Juicy!" she called to her friend, and despite the state she was in with Tig – both with their arms dripping, water splashed in their hair and faces, still grinning at the spur-of-the-moment clown torture – Juice managed a smile.

"Hey. I know you don't like clowns, but that seemed a little excessive."

She laughed and made to pull him into a water-soaked hug, which he quickly avoided; but as always she managed to catch him, pulling him back against her chest as she rubbed his Mohawked head. He grinned and reached up to grab at the arm she was securing him with.

"Man, you should have heard the shit he was saying to her," Tig told him.

"Who, that guy?" Juice replied, throwing the clown a dangerous glance as Alice finally let him go.

"Easy, tiger. It's taken care of," Alice assured him with a friendly smack on the shoulder, grinning at his sudden defensiveness. "Where've you been?" she asked. "You missed all the fun."

"Club business," he replied. She looked at him, then around at the others, quickly catching on.

"Well, I might go grab some cotton candy, rot my teeth a little. I'll catch you guys later."

"Thanks, darlin'," Jax said, appreciating her tact, earning a pretty smile in return. She nodded to Bobby, then Juice, then threw Tig a quick wink. When she was out of earshot, the boys turned back to look at their Sergeant, who's gaze was still trained after her like a lovesick puppy.

"Okay, I didn't want to have to be the one to say it," Juice began, "But when did that happen?"

Jax just laughed.

"When did what happen?" Tig asked, turning back.

Juice shook his head at the man. "Nothing. Never mind."

Jax and Bobby chuckled.

"Let's go find Clay."

* * *

The news of the little girl's rape reached her the following day, while she was on the phone to Juice trying to organize a day with him to break in her new Xbox and flat-screen TV – the TV a gift for herself after a long week of hard work, and the game console a sort of peace offering to her old friend. The thirteen year-old daughter of a prominent local businessman had gone missing towards the end of the night, turning up later on the outskirts of the surrounding woods, battered, bruised and bleeding. A rape kit at the local hospital had confirmed the worst, but the girl was refusing to talk, likely in a deep state of shock from the horrible event. As the unofficial protectors of their quaint little town, knowing the local PD would likely sit on their thumbs until the girl broke her silence, the Sons were already planning on doing a little investigating of their own; and on principle, despite being new to the town, Frankie was more than willing to offer her services.

Juice had been unwilling to talk, at first, since he considered it club business – not something he should be telling even his closest friend about; but Frankie being Frankie had her ways of getting him to talk, even if it was only over the phone. He had eventually admitted that he had been tasked with looking into a couple of Nords they had seen at the grounds that night, with the club assuming the attack had been the Nords' way of pissing on Charming. As a group that had also been running drugs through the town, this wasn't a first for them, but assaulting little girls certainly was, at least within the town's borders, and the Sons of Anarchy were not about to let something so heinous run its course with the law.

"You're sure it was them?" she asked Juice now, turning over in her memory the various other potential suspects she had seen the previous evening.

"They're the only ones with motive."

"Motive? A fucking pedophile doesn't need motive to touch a child, Juice. That in itself is the motive."

"I don't want to think about that," he admitted, confirming to her once again how little he would suit her world. The kinds of truths she had been exposed to would be enough to turn the stomach of even the most seasoned detectives.

"Alright. Well, let me know if you guys find anything."

"Al."

"Yeah?"

"What are you planning? You've got that tone-"

"What tone?"

"Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not. That's your thing," she grinned into the phone.

"Just leave it up to us, okay? We got this."

"Sure thing, kid. We'll talk later."

And with that, she hung up, leaving him with the impression that something was _exactly_ what she would be doing. She had the night free, after all, and though normally rape was not something she stood for, the rape of a thirteen year-old girl was especially monstrous in her eyes; something that deserved a special kind of retribution.

* * *

Juice had pulled the records of the suspected assailants, finding that they had both been convicted of violent sex crimes in the past. This put them right at the top of the list of the Sons' suspects, and made them the first stop of the day. After a little tip off from the leader of the Nords about the possible location, the men of SAMCRO were on their bikes, ready to deal out a little vigilante justice. The property owned by one of the men's mothers was large and isolated, making it the perfect place for a fugitive to hide out. The crew had moved out minus Juice, who had inexplicably gone MIA whilst tasked with packing the guns and ammo, and they had been quick to find that he hadn't even had time to finish said task before bailing on them.

"Maybe Frankie finally gave in to his whining," Chibs joked, as they looked down at the AKs that were all missing their clips.

"I doubt it," Tig replied, "But either way, kid's got a hiding coming his way."

They moved in on the house, taking out the few men who were in the yard feeding a collection of caged fighting dogs. They dumped the unconscious bodies into one of the free pens and continued on their way. The moment they busted into the house, they knew they had the wrong place.

A priest stood in the center of the living room, bible in hand, reciting verses with a number of tough-looking white males, all adorned with ink, most of them with visible swastikas and other Nordic symbols. The two Nords in question were among them, but didn't look the part of the wanted child-rapist. In fact, the men looked oddly peaceful.

"I haven't acted out sexually in over three years," one of them explained later, "These men will vouch for me. I'm a saved man."

The Sons exchanged looks. He sounded legit, and the priest seemed a pretty good indicator that he was telling the truth.

"I guess we got some bad intel, man," Clay explained. That was it for Juice; final strike. He had something really special coming his way for this stuff up. "Sorry."

"It's not too late for you men," the Nord went on, "Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior can save you. He can deliver you from all your transgressions."

"I appreciate your zeal, padre," Tig replied, "But my transgressions, they're all I got left."

* * *

They discovered Juice back at the clubhouse, unconscious in the armory after taking some pills Tig had so kindly asked him to store away.

"What an idiot."

"Kid probably thought it was speed," Bobby chuckled.

"I want something very special for him," Clay grinned, leaving that decision up to Tig, whom he knew would achieve said wish the best.

"You got it," he agreed.

* * *

After hitting what felt like a dead end, their next tip-off came from Gemma, who had paid the victim of the assault a little visit. With all the fuss from the local police and the attending doctors, a little heart-to-heart with a sympathetic ear was all it had taken for the girl to give up the identity of her attacker.

It was back to the carnival for the crew, with their new target in mind; a fat guy dressed as a clown – someone Jax, Tig and Bobby were very familiar with. Arriving on the scene, the appearances of some of the men didn't get by them. It looked as if someone had already passed through.

"What happened to you?" Clay asked the leader of the carnie folk, a bald man with more than enough moustache, beard and sideburn to make up for said hair shortage, who was also sporting a nasty-looking black eye.

"Nothing," he lied.

"Wanna try that again?"

"Some woman came through," he finally admitted to them. "Real crazy bitch."

Clay narrowed his eyes as the others exchanged surprised looks.

"You catch their name?" Chibs asked him, though he already had one in mind. The man shook his head.

Clay ran his pinky finger from beside his eye, trailing down to his stubble-ridden jaw. "Scar?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know? One of yours?"

"Not exactly," Clay replied. He turned to Tig. "Get her on the phone."

Tig made three attempts, but each one rang out. "She ain't answering."

"Goddammit. What did you tell her?"

"Nothing," replied the carnie leader, "She was looking for someone. But he ain't here."

"You seem pretty sure of that. You guys harboring a fugitive?" he asked, knowing fully well that if they had been, Frankie would have already found him.

The ringleader just shook his head. Apparently the black-eye wasn't enough of a lesson in what happens when you back talk the wrong people. "What are you going to do about it?"

Clay just smirked. "Citizen's arrest."

The club quickly began laying into the surrounding carnie men, fists flying high and low as they settled things the old-fashioned way. Midway through biting a guy's ear off, Tig felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He stepped back and spat the bit of flesh out in a shower of blood, and took it out to answer.

"You guys looking for someone?" the voice on the other end said.

"Where you at?"

"The compound."

Tig looked over at Clay and motioned that he had her on the phone.

"You got him in the chair?" Tig asked, knowing if that was the case, she was probably well into her own brand of punishment. He didn't even know how she knew about this whole thing. Juice. It had to have been. Man, that kid was lucky he'd gone easy on him.

"Nah, fat bastard wouldn't fit. I got him tied up, on his knees, ready to suck the dick of vigilante justice. Or _dicks_ , as it may be."

Tig chuckled and nodded to the others that she had him.

"Where's she at?" Clay asked.

"Her place. The warehouse"

"Has she done anything to him? We need this guy in one piece for Oswald."

"You done anything to the guy?" Tig asked her.

"Nah. He's alright. You on your way?"

"As we speak, baby."

* * *

"I thought you said you hadn't done anything," Clay said to her now, as he looked down at the bleeding, sobbing mess of a man who had raped a child less than a day earlier.

From her seat on her workbench, Frankie just shrugged. _Sympathy for the Devil_ played steadily over the speakers, the volume much lower than usual, almost ambient.

"He's got no ears!" Chibs exclaimed, looking from the clown to his mutilator.

"He said he didn't like my music," she replied simply.

The Scotsman shook his head in disbelief. Tig, meanwhile, was quite enjoying the scenario, especially for someone who hadn't wanted to go looking for the man to begin with. She explained to them that she had heard about the attack through a number of different avenues and had taken it upon herself to offer her services and track the offender down. She made it clear that this wasn't for any monetary gain – more an effort to help clean up the streets.

"Besides," she added, "I fucking hate clowns."

"How generous of you," Clay mocked, "So what, one of your comrades get a little too friendly on tour? This your way of getting back at Mr. Bump-in-the-Night?"

She just smiled at him. "All my comrades are alive, so no. Sorry if I stepped on anyone's toes here, I kind of figured we all had the same endgame, didn't realize I was getting into a pissing contest over a fucking pedophile."

Clay stepped towards her menacingly, not used to being spoken to in such a manner, but Jax caught him by the shoulder. He looked down at his stepson's hand, then back up to meet his eyes. Jax just shook his head. Not worth it. Tig had been looking on, a little unsure what he would do should a fight break out between the two. He was, after all, the president's right-hand man, sworn to protect him at all costs. Judging from the increasingly unstable glint in Frankie's eyes, he wondered if she would even need protecting. She had done a pretty good job on those carnies. He kind of wished he could have been there to see it.

"So what are we doing here?" she asked now, gesturing to the whimpering mess of a man. "I'm assuming we're waiting on someone?"

"The father of the little girl who was attacked," Jax replied, and she nodded.

"He dealing out the grand finale?"

"That's the plan," Clay told her.

* * *

Coming from a life of white-collar entitlement, it was fair to say that Elliot Oswald was not prepared for the scene before him as Clay led the way back into the compound. His eyes briefly met those of the strange woman seated up on the workbench, before ghosting over those of the more familiar men surrounding them.

"What is this?" he asked, confused by both the location and the presence of the woman.

"Had a little help from a friend," the president explained, and Frankie gave a little two-finger wave, her face expressionless. Growing more uncomfortable by the second, Elliot looked down at the bleeding man on the ground.

"This is the man who raped your little girl," Clay told him. He took out a wrapped knife from his pocket and handed it to the grieving father. "This here is what they call an 'Elsie-maker'," he explained. "It's what they use to cut the balls off of bulls."

Upon hearing this, the man on the ground began to struggle against his binds, his screams very audible without the usual music to overpower it.

Clay looked to Frankie. "Something we can do about that?"

"I've got a ball gag," she replied, jerking her thumb in the direction of her storage room. "Could use that." Clay nodded. As she jumped down from the workbench and moved to retrieve it, she was met by Tig's avid gaze. "What?" But he didn't reply, simply mesmerized by her seemingly endless ability to turn him on.

Once the gag was secured, Bobby and Chibs lifted the man to his feet while Tig took down the perpetrator's pants and underwear, exposing his genitals to the vengeful father. Elliot stepped up to him with the knife, hesitated as he stared into the eyes of the man who had left such a permanent psychological mark on his daughter, but found himself unable to go through with it.

"He deserves every second of the pain," Clay reminded him, but he finally stepped back. "We had a deal, here, Oswald."

"Sorry," Elliot replied, "Sorry, I can't."

Clay sighed, pulling on a pair of leather gloves, and took the knife from him. Knowing what was likely to come next, Elliot was quick to leave the building.

"Hold him still," Clay said now, gesturing to the writhing fat man.

"Clay!" Jax called, but it came too late. The sickening sound of severed sinews filled the room, as the man's balls splattered down onto the floor below, followed by a steady gush of blood.

"Let him bleed out," Clay instructed Frankie, and they exchanged respectful nods, dismissing the earlier comments shared between them. He bagged up the murder weapon and turned to find Jax shaking his head. "Just a little insurance," he told him, stashing the blade covered in the businessman's fingerprints. He turned back to Frankie. "I want this one buried in the woods. Mark the grave." She nodded again. "Prospect will help you." Half-Sack looked up from the bloody pair of balls on the ground upon hearing his latest instructions. He glanced over at Frankie, but she was still watching the twitching carnie on the floor, waiting for him to become still.

"I'll stay, too," Tig volunteered.

Clay just stared at him for a moment. "Sure thing." He motioned towards the balls and said to no one in particular, "Pick those up and gift wrap them." Bobby and Chibs glanced at each other, looking like they were going to flip a coin over the allocation of that particular task.

Tig walked over to stand beside Frankie, leaning back against the workbench as he joined in the death throe observations. Half-Sack stood to her left, looking on with an uncomfortable expression, and she patted him on the shoulder.

"Just be grateful you still got the one working one," she told him, realizing he was probably experiencing flashbacks to when he had lost his own testicle in Iraq. Tig chuckled at that and finally the man gave one shuddering breath and ceased his movement. "Alright, let's get to work. I'll go grab a few things. Sack, you mind being on clean-up duty while we move the body?"

"Don't ask him," Tig told her, "Kid does as he's told."

Half-Sack just nodded. He had cleaned up worse things around the club than a bit of blood, especially with Piney blocking up the toilet every other day.

As they prepared for their various jobs, the others having since left the building, balls in tow, Tig managed to corner her in the storage room, picking her up around the waist and setting her back down on top of some boxes. His kiss was aggressive, more so than usual, and she couldn't help but wonder if that had something to do with the mention of the ball-gag earlier.

"Why do I taste blood?" she asked after they'd parted from one another.

"I bit a guy's ear off before," he replied.

"Of course you did."

"Oh, before I forget, you're probably going to want to stop by the police station sometime tomorrow morning, too."

She frowned. "Why's that?"

"Juicy's gonna need a ride home."


	6. Chapter 6: Stitch-Up

_Kind of a filler chapter, I guess. Just trying to keep the momentum going as my train of inspiration chugs along. I'm still finding it really difficult to concentrate as I'm writing, so I'm taking things one episode at a time for now. As usual, any comments or suggestions are welcome. Also, I'm not a huge smut writer – more into the subtle inclusion – but I'll try and work on that as we go._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **STITCH-UP**

 _Slightly retarded child. Please adopt me._

Alice stared down at the sign, a barely-concealed smirk playing at her lips. Tig had explained what had happened to Juice the night before. He had given him some tranquilizer tablets that he kept for what he so dubiously called 'emergencies', telling the boy to put them in his lockbox, jokingly telling him that they were 'vitamins'. Juice, being the special kind of idiot that he was, had taken a couple of said pills, one of which was enough to knock out a horse for at least a couple of hours.

So now, chuckling at the punishment the club had inflicted upon her friend, Alice waited for him to regain consciousness. She could understand why Tig had suggested she pick him up; not just a simple gesture for a friend to do another friend a solid, instead knowing that being seen in such a state by her was sure to embarrass the boy. It was decent payback for the way Juice had been acting towards him for making advances towards Alice.

Sitting on the hood of her car, enjoying the slowly rising temperature as the sun came up behind her, Alice heard the creak of the police station's front door. She looked up and saw a handsome man in his early thirties approaching dressed in a deputy's uniform. He glanced from her to the passed out biker.

"This one yours?" he asked her, hands on hips.

"Afraid so," she smiled.

He looked her up and down, eyes slightly narrowed. "I don't believe we've met. Deputy Hale."

"Frankie," she replied simply, shaking his hand.

"You're…you're not with SAMCRO, right?" he asked, putting two and two together. He knew all the men from the motorcycle club, as well as most of their Old Ladies, making it his current life's mission to keep an eye on each and every one of them, waiting for the slightest slip-up; a single reason to place them under arrest. Although he wasn't overly familiar with the youngest patched member, he knew Juice on sight.

"No. Juice is just an old friend of mine. A very old, very stupid friend." Stupid though he may have been, the peaceful look on that adorable face of his had her more than willing to take the sign up on its offer and take him back home as a full adoption.

Hale smiled. "Well, do me a favor. When he wakes up, see to it that he vacates the premises. Wouldn't want to be slapping indecent exposure on your old friend. It'll save me the paperwork."

"Favors already, Deputy? I've only known you a couple of minutes. Men work fast in Charming, huh?"

She was sure that she caught him blush a little at that, but he stood his ground all the same. "Look at it this way – it'll save a fine, young citizen like yourself from being seen inside a police station while you post his bail."

"Fair enough," she chuckled.

Smiling, looking a little proud of himself, Hale made to move back into the building, stopping when he noticed Juice beginning to stir.

"You must have really pissed off your buddies," he told him as Juice blinked against the glare of the morning sun. He rubbed his eyes and noticed Alice over by her car. "You should feel lucky you've got one good friend left. She's been watching over you."

"Yeah, lucky," he mumbled. He finally looked down, feeling a painful pull on his skin, and noticed the cardboard sign stapled to his chest…and the diaper he had on. Blushing furiously, he attempted to get on his feet, struggling on the first go.

"Come on, get out of here before I arrest you."

"Yeah, I should go," Juice agreed, "I'm late for my eight o'clock feeding."

Chuckling, Alice stood from the hood of her car and watched as he approached.

"Hey, don't look at me," she said, before placing her hands over her breasts jokingly, "Milk hasn't come in yet."

He grinned sheepishly and she reached into the passenger seat, pulling out a small bundle of clothes.

"Thanks," he told her with a guilty look, and she rolled her eyes. "How'd you know I'd be here?" He grabbed at the sign on his chest first, wincing as he yanked it off, leaving tiny, bloody trail marks where the staples had cut into him. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at them so he wouldn't stain his shirt, throwing him another unimpressed look.

"Tig told me last night."

"Right."

She looked up to meet his gaze, dabbing a little harder at the last spot.

"It wasn't like that, you ungrateful prick. We were… pig hunting."

He threw her a skeptical look.

"I'll explain later."

Realization dawned on him, remembering what they had discussed over the phone the day before.

"Oh. How'd that go? I thought I said to leave it up to us?"

"Yeah, well, turns out they were one guy short, oddly enough. I volunteered."

When she was done cleaning up the blood, he threw on one of his long-sleeved, grey cotton shirts before grabbing the diaper and double-checking he was wearing underwear underneath. Much to his embarrassment, Alice had a good laugh at that. Thankfully he was. He pulled off the makeshift diaper and tossed it in a nearby garbage can, quickly yanking on his jeans before any of the passing pedestrians could complain – though Alice didn't see what they had to complain about. She was enjoying the show from where she was standing.

"So," she began, as he sat down on her hood and tugged on his boots, "Hungry? I'll take you out for breakfast. My shout."

He smiled broadly, then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why are you being so nice?"

She held an offended hand to her heart. "Because I love you so, Juicy. Why do I need an excuse?"

"It's not like you."

"Fuck you."

"There it is. That's the Alice I know."

She shook her head. "Come on, let's get out of here before I become known as the 'lady who adopts special needs kids off the street corner'."

He laughed and hopped in the passenger seat. Alice was making her way over to the other side of the car when she heard:

"Officer!"

Thinking there was trouble, she glanced over at a silver-haired man in his early forties who was making his way up towards Deputy Hale.

"Yes?" Hale replied.

"I'm Agent Kohn, ATF."

"Chief Deputy Hale. What brings you to Charming?"

"I'm working an interstate weapons case. Outlaw crew in your town may be involved. Sons of Anarchy?"

Alice slid into the driver's side before she could be seen, pausing before turning on the ignition.

"What's up?" Juice asked her, catching her troubled look.

"We made need to get that breakfast to go."

* * *

"ATF? You're sure?" Clay asked.

"That's what he said. Seemed pretty adamant about talking to Hale. Claimed he's investigating weapons trafficking. That you guys are suspects."

Jax leaned forward against the bar and let out a heavy sigh.

"Shit," was all Bobby said.

"What did he say his name was?"

"Agent Kohn," Frankie replied.

"Already on it," said Juice, carrying his breakfast towards his dorm. After yesterday's series of fuck-ups, he had a lot to start making up for.

"Thanks for bringing this to us," Clay told Frankie, and she gave nod.

"Want a drink?" Tig asked her, approaching from around the bar.

"Little early, ain't it?"

"Coffee, then?"

"Sure," she replied, but when she caught him turning his gaze to the prospect, added, "But only if you make it for me." Half-Sack bit back a smirk, waiting for Tig's reaction, but the man just sighed and gave in.

"I know how you like it, baby," he said before disappearing into the kitchen.

"You play him like a fiddle," Chibs commented as the others prepared themselves for an impromptu session in the Chapel.

"What can I say," Frankie chuckled, "I know how he likes it, too."

* * *

"Guy's legit," Juice began, joining them at the table after a quick database hacking session, "Chicago division. Only thing that stood out on his record is a restraining order, otherwise he's pretty clean."

"A restraining order ain't exactly clean," Jax replied. "Did it say who, or why?"

Juice shook his head. "Weren't a lot of details. Couldn't track down the original copy."

"Whether it was personal or business related, still says a lot about who we're dealing with, here," Tig added, "A guy who crosses the line when it comes to getting what he wants."

"So in other words, ATF," Clay said, and the others chuckled. They'd had their fair share of experience with the feds, and if they'd learned anything, it was that their agents – particularly the young up-and-comers – always had a way of going above and beyond the call of duty. In other words, they played it almost as dirty as the criminals they were trying to take down.

"What are we gonna do about those guns?" Chibs asked. A fresh shipment had reached them only two days prior, the Scotsman given charge of taking the order while the others had their fun at the carnival.

"Any legit place we store them is going to be a straight line back to the club."

"We've taken every precaution to stay out of ATF's crosshairs. No busts. No investigations for five years. It doesn't make sense this guy showing up now." Clay glanced at Juice, then over at the doors, beyond which Frankie still sat at the bar drinking her coffee. Juice caught the look.

"It's not her, man."

"Seems a little convenient that she shows up and within a week we got the ATF sniffin' around."

"It's not her," Tig confirmed. "Believe me. It ain't her."

"That's easy to say, coming from the guy sleeping with her."

"Nah, man. Ain't like that. If you'd seen what I'd seen the other night, when we were out burying those dead Mexicans… If she was an undercover fed, I'd say she'd gone a little beyond her objective."

Juice was frowning over at him, wondering what the hell that meant, curious about what the man had seen. From the look on his face, it hadn't been pretty.

"Alright, regardless of why this guy's suddenly in town," Jax went on, "We need to move our product before he comes at us with a warrant. We've got a garage full of twenty-five-to-life just waiting to be discovered."

"You got any bright ideas?" Clay asked.

"We got that call from Jury last week," he replied, referring to an old friend of his father's who ran his own club over in Nevada. "Mayans are pressing the Devil's Tribe to pay vig to keep running books and pussy out of the state. Maybe I head down there, offer some advice. Maybe he offers us a safe house for our AKs."

"That's a risky run, brother," Bobby interjected, "Knowing Nevada's Mayan territory. They're still wanting payback after we blew up their warehouse. This whole thing with the vig is just their way of shitting on us. They knew Jury would call. They'll be watching."

"So that's why just you and me go, brother. Under the radar. Then we'll bring the guns in the same way."

Bobby still looked skeptical about the whole idea, but it was the best they had at this point. That or risk a life sentence for possession of illegal firearms, intention to distribute and the many other things the ATF was likely to slap on them.

Clay stared at his stepson thoughtfully. "And you think you can bring Jury on board?"

"Shit, my dad saved his ass in Chay Ninh. He owes us Tellers a chit."

Clay threw him a look that easily matched Bobby's.

"Look, man, we're not going cowboy. I promise," Jax said.

"Promise," Bobby agreed in a mocking tone.

"Low profile," Clay told him, "We don't want no wetbacks following us into Nevada." He looked to Tig, knowing he was the only man he could trust with getting their precious cargo safely across the state line. The man was aggressively loyal – he would fight and kill his way through any trouble they found themselves in. "They pull this off, I want you and Juice driving the barrels."

"Done. We're going to need something big for transport, though."

"I'll call Unser." Aside from being the Chief of Police, Unser also owned and ran his own transport company, leaving all kinds of trucks and vans at the clubs disposal. If they asked nicely, of course.

* * *

Clay waited until Bobby and Jax were halfway to Indian Hills to reveal his true intentions for their little trip. Though the idea to offer assistance to the Devil's Tribe had come from Jax, the whole thing had given Clay a far better idea. With the Mayans sniffing around, he couldn't risk leaving his guns with an unattached outlaw gang. So he proposed what was known by the MCs as a 'patch-over', a sort of assimilation of one club into another. In this case, replacing the Tribe's own kuttes with the reaper of the Sons. The new association was sure to make the Mayans think twice about any counter-attacks, especially since the Sons of Anarchy brought not only the assurance of additional security, but the extra manpower to guarantee back-up in the event of an attack.

Jax was hesitant to agree with his president on this one. Jury had been a good friend of his father's, and though the Tribe had had the same beginnings as the Sons – running guns and sometimes drugs across borders – they had now settled into more legit business like bookkeeping and protection services. Jax didn't like the idea of bringing a straight-line club back into the crosshairs of the likes of the ATF; it just didn't seem right.

The one thing everyone could agree on, though, was the idea of a patch-over party. Patch-over parties were not unlike the standard parties thrown by the MC; only with far more fine women, a lot more booze, and usually it's fair share of drugs being shared around. A patch-over party was basically one big free-for-all, welcoming new brothers into new era of their club's history.

Upon hearing this latest bit of information, Tig was absolutely devastated. He loved patch-over parties more than anything, with all the women and booze he could want or ask for. Juice didn't mind so much being tasked to drive the guns down, knowing there would always be more parties to enjoy, but Tig had always been a _carpe diem_ kind of guy – you just never knew which day was going to be your last when you wore the reaper.

One thing that did bother Juice, though – at least a little – was being paired with Tig. They hadn't really spoken much since the stuff with Alice had begun, and whenever they found themselves working together in the garage they seemed to actively avoid each other and any form of conversation – not that it stopped Tig from messing with him whenever he could. But as with any task assigned, much like in his days as a prospect, he knew this was something he was just going to have to suck it up and deal with. If Clay had refused Tig's pleas to send Half-Sack in his place so he could attend the party, he certainly wasn't about to let Juice off over some petty beef between the two of them.

* * *

With Unser looking for the door as he neared his retirement, he failed to come through for them on the truck. It could have had something to do with Clay turning over the man's goods to the Italians during the last protection run, but he would have thought that little stunt had served as a clear enough message. Apparently not. Giving the man his continuous wish for plausible deniability, Clay ordered that they take things into their own hands and 'borrow' one of the chief's trucks to run across state lines. Being registered under the name of an officer of the law, it was less likely they would be pulled over. Now all they had to do was steal the truck. Had it been anyone else, the job would have gone over smoothly, but when you were employing the same kid who had mistaken tranquilizer tablets for vitamins a mere forty-eight hours earlier, things were sure to go wrong.

Tig and Juice stood by the chain-link fence, hands clawed against the wire as they watched the Doberman guard dog devour the piece of meat.

"You dosed it, right?" Tig checked, glancing at his club brother, still not quite over the other day's stupidity.

"Triple-dosed it," Juice assured him.

"Patch-over party, man. Can you believe this shit?"

"What are you worrying about?" Juice frowned, brows pulling together as he threw the man a look.

"What? Alice?"

Juice looked a little surprised that he knew her real name. That was something she rarely revealed to people since she had adopted the pseudonym. Things were worse than he thought.

"Things aren't like that, man. We never agreed to anything exclusive. Like I'm gonna turn down that young, tight, perfect pussy, anyway. Theirs, not hers. Not that I'd ever turn hers down, either."

He caught Juice's jaw tense as the boy fought to hold back the tirade of rage bubbling in his head.

"Look at it this way, Juicy. She finds out I fucked a bunch of sweetbutts at another club, she and I are done, you get her all to yourself."

Juice raised his boltcutters, fighting the urge to use them on Tig's throat, and set to work on the locked gate.

"Fido's finished his Scooby snack," he said, clipping the chain. They strode onto the lot, looking at the line-up of trucks.

"Which one?" Tig asked.

"Clay said the cargo truck. Keys should be in the cab."

Just as they began moving towards it, they heard a deep, foreboding growl. The Doberman was still very much awake, and as it crept menacingly towards them, it began to bare its teeth, foam and spittle dripping from its jaws.

"Holy shit! Run! Go, go!" Juice shouted.

They sprinted towards the nearest truck, Juice going for the driver's side and finding the door, thankfully, open. Tig did not have any such luck, and as he tugged at the door handle, yelling for Juice to move his ass and unlock it, he felt a sharp set of teeth sink into the thick flesh of his ass. He screamed. The door clicked open and he was finally inside the cab, kicking at the pooch until it finally released. He slammed the door closed and fell back against the vinyl, grabbing at his wounded behind. His hand came away bloody.

"I thought you said you drugged the meat!"

"I did!" Juice told him, eyes wide but trying not to laugh. It was as if karma had literally come up and bitten the man on the ass.

"Look at him!" Tig said, gesturing to the psychotic dog that was still throwing itself against the side of the vehicle. "He's foaming at the goddamn mouth!"

"That thing should be dead. I dosed it with, like, two grams."

Tig paused, the measurement striking him as odd. Two tablets, sure. But grams?

"Two grams of what?"

"Crank."

Tig breathed a very steady sigh, fighting every urge in his body to slap the idiot.

"You fed crystal to a killer Doberman?" he said steadily, "Are you retarded?"

"No," the botched-pharmacist replied defensively. "Should I shoot it?"

Tig was quick to decline the offer, fond as he was of dogs, and instead pulled a familiar little baggie of white pills from his jeans pocket.

"So, what, you just carry those around now?" Juice asked him.

"Yeah, especially when I know I'm being paired with a fucking moron. Here."

"What?'

"You got us into this fucking mess. Go feed him."

"What? I don't have any more meat."

"Stick it between your ass cheeks and let it eat you out."

Juice made a face but took the bag nonetheless. Looking around the cab, he opened the glove compartment and found some old condiment packets. He stared at them, looked at the tablets, and formulated a plan.

* * *

By the time they made it back to the lot, Tig could feel a wet patch growing beneath him in the seat.

"I feel like I'm on my fucking rag. Unbelievable," he growled as they hopped out. He looked back at the puddle of blood on the vinyl and sneered, throwing Juice a particularly aggressive look.

"Look, I'll clean it up. Why don't you go change? I think there's a bandage in the med-kit."

"Yeah, sure. No worries."

Watching the man disappear into the clubhouse, Juice took out his phone and called someone he knew would be able to patch him up.

* * *

Even before the incident with the dog, Juice could feel the hostile vibes rolling off the man. He could easily say out of everyone at the MC, Tig was the last person he would have chosen to be paired with. This was the man that Alice had chosen to focus her energies on, who had slowly begun to draw her away from the interest she'd had in reestablishing the connection they had once shared. The same man who had just admitted to being willing to lose her over a bit of free pussy in Indian Hills. That lack of respect – that pure gesture of entitlement – was driving him mad. But even when they were younger and he had known he wasn't the only guy she was fucking, he had somehow managed to make peace with that, if only to refrain from any drama that might have driven her away. Maybe it was also as a sign of respect to her; that he didn't want to give her any ultimatum's that would go against her needs or desires. He had always put her happiness before his own. If he was going to do that now, he knew he would have to make peace with the man she was becoming involved with.

"Hey, have you ever been to Ireland?" he asked conversationally, but Tig was having none of it.

"Shut up."

"Look, man, it's not my fault you got bit, alright? You didn't specify what drug to give it."

Tig's turned his steely gaze upon him. "You better be joking."

Juice gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm not happy about being here, either, man."

"And is that the patch-over party, or because I'm sticking it to your little girlfriend?"

"Don't be a dick, man."

"What did you say?"

He took in Juice's forlorn expression.

"What? What is it? You want to bond? Is that it?"

Juice looked up at him, but knew better than to respond, knowing that admitting to the real reason he wanted a truce would only act as more fodder to the man's verbal gunfire.

"Fine," Tig said.

Juice watched as he began to unbuckle his belt.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna dunk my balls in your mouth. You're gonna gag, I'm gonna laugh, we'll be best friends forever."

"Geez, if I knew that's all it took, I would never have agreed to all that other stuff."

They both swung around to find Alice looking on, arms folded across her chest, an amused expression on her face.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Tig asked, glancing at Juice for answers, then at the barrels full of incriminating evidence.

"I heard you got your ass torn apart. Weird, I always had you pegged as a top."

Juice grinned at her and Tig just gaped.

"Very funny. You call her?"

Juice nodded. "She's gonna patch you up. Consider it a peace offering."

"Peace offering? What the hell happened out there?" she asked.

"Why don't you ask Captain Crystal over here?" Tig replied.

She looked over at Juice.

"He asked me to drug the dog. So I did."

She cocked her head, glancing briefly at Tig, "With what?"

"Crank," Tig answered for him.

She snorted and crinkled her nose in a way both men found oddly adorable. Tig mimicked the expression unconsciously as together he and Alice began to laugh. By the time Tig settled down, Alice was still shaking with silent giggles.

"Oh, Juicy," she said, "You're lucky you're pretty." She gave him a rub on the head and he ducked away, throwing her a playful scowl.

"Alright, come take a look at my ass," Tig said to her, gesturing for her to follow. She looked back at Juice, who seemed a little weirded out about the wording of the proposal.

"Hey, at least he asked this time," she told him with a grin. Juice shook his head and watched them walk away.

"You're good with the rest of those, right?" Tig called back to him, referring to the barrels full of gun parts that were yet to be loaded.

"Yeah," he called back, with just a hint of sarcasm, "I'll be fine."

* * *

"Alright, safe word?"

"Very funny."

She had Tig lying on one the bed of one of the spare dorms, dragging him away from Juice's room, whose bed he had been so adamant about marking with his bloody ass. Naked from the waist down, Alice had a pretty good view of the biker's body. She had been tempted to smack him on his meaty bottom as he dropped his pants, but the moment she saw the extent of his wound, she found herself feeling sorry for him. Juice had dropped the ball so many times lately, and she couldn't help but wonder if her arrival on the west coast had anything to do with that. She knew she served as a distraction for him whenever she was around, and it was beginning to seem that way with Tig, too – though in all fairness he was a pretty decent distraction himself.

She took out her med-kit from her bag and removed the pad of gauze he'd placed down to the area. He hissed a little as the movement pulled at the loose flap of skin.

"Oh, sweetheart. I still have to clean this out," she told him, preparing him for the worse pain to come.

"Goddammit. I'm going to kill him. I swear. I know it'll hurt you, but I'm gonna kill him."

"Aw, thinking of me even in your moment of pain. That's sweet," she chuckled. "Want me to grab some booze to take the edge off?"

"Please," he replied, his tone tinged with a whiny quality she found sweet for a big, tough biker. He looked so vulnerable in this position, and she felt a little twinge of affection for him as she left the room.

The club was oddly quiet with everyone being away on other business. It almost reminded her of the cold silence of the Graveyard. She shivered and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, quickly returning to Tig's warm presence.

"Here you go."

"Thanks, doll."

He took a long swig of it and she took it away.

"What the fuck?"

"Alcohol works as a blood-thinner," she explained. "You drink too much and it's going to make this a whole lot harder."

She set to work stitching him up, first splashing a bit of the alcohol over the wound, wincing at the cry of pain it drew from the man under her. She made quick work of the stitches for his benefit, making sure that they were nice and even.

"So where is everyone?" she asked, trying her best to distract him from the pain.

"Patch-over," he replied. After all he had seen, he knew more than enough to put her behind bars for life should she prove to be a snitch, but he highly doubted she was anything like that. Or maybe that was more hope than anything – he would hate to find out that she had been faking everything the whole time.

She threw him a confused frown. "As in…?"

"As in I am missing out one hell of a party because my prez paired me up with a freakin' retard."

She chuckled. "Well, if the other night was anything to go by, I can't begin to imagine what a special event must be like."

"Imagine our party, but with three times the booze, weed and pussy."

"Nice."

"Exactly."

"So which part are you missing out on?"

He froze as she finished up the last of the stitches, and when he glanced back at her, he caught her teasing smile. She hadn't meant anything by the comment, merely toying with him to read his reaction.

"You've got the booze," she said, lifting up the bottle of whiskey, "I'm sure Juice has the weed around here somewhere. And I'm sure you could find some pussy around here, too." She smirked as he smiled at her. "If you looked hard enough."

"You're the best, you know that?"

"I thought I was fucked up?"

"You are. But that's part of what makes you the best."

She laughed as she snipped the remaining length of the suture. "Alright, all done."

He felt her press a kiss to the area and he smiled to himself as she laughed again. God, he was really starting to love that sound.

"Alright, turn over."

He did as he was told, revealing a raging hard-on.

"What's going to be the least painful way to do this?" she asked him.

"I can handle it, doll," he assured her, motioning to his length, "Climb aboard."

Chuckling, she peeled off her jeans and underwear and took him up on the suggestion.

"Do you think Juice will be okay?" she asked.

"Honestly? I really couldn't give a fuck right now."


	7. Chapter 7: The Clash

_I was planning on making this another all Juice chapter, but Tig got in the way. Special thanks to_ _ **sillygabby**_ _for your consistent reviewing. It always makes me happy when people get invested in my stories. Thanks for reading and I look forward to your reviews!_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **THE CLASH**

"Boom! Headshot, motherfucker!"

"Man, if this is how you acted out in the field, I feel really sorry for all the other soldiers."

Juice chuckled as Alice threw him a look. She was stretched out on the sofa with him sitting on the ground in front of her, playing _Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare_ online. She had finally managed to convince him to take some time away from the club – not that there was a lot going on with it at the moment thanks to Jax and Clay's successful gun-running plan into Nevada – tempting him with promises of free beer, and a lot of virtual killing; the only kind he was really fond of. The weed had been his idea, and as it turned out, playing _Call of Duty_ drunk and high was one of the most fun experiences he'd ever had. Although that could have just been the person he was playing it with. Turned out when Alice got drunk, she also got really competitive; and as an ex-marine, her reflexes were something to be envied. She had taken a liking to 'camping', as Juice so irritably called it, as if she were somehow cheating, and rather than joining in on the main action, would wait until a player was totally, blissfully unaware of her presence before sending a .308 bullet right through their skull.

She cackled as she took out yet another unsuspecting victim. "This was a great idea, Juicy," she told him, rubbing the back of his head playfully. He jerked his head away from her, his momentary lapse in concentration opening his player up to a bombardment of bullets from the enemy.

"Damn it! See what you made me do?"

She just laughed.

"And this was your idea, not mine," he reminded her.

"Oh yeah. For a second there I actually almost gave you credit." She ruffled his non-existent hair once again and got to her feet as the final scores flashed up onto the screen, displaying over one hundred headshots under her name as she downed the last of her beer.

"Want another one?"

He glanced over at his empty bottle sitting on a coaster on her coffee table. "Yeah, sure."

"Hey, you never told me how that patch-over party went the other night," she called from the kitchen, as he heard the fridge opening.

"What party? It was over by the time we got there."

"Oh, Tig must have been devastated," she teased.

Recalling the look on the Sergeant-at-Arms' face as he and Alice had returned from the clubhouse that night, after she had stitched the man up, Juice glowered.

"Yeah, real devastated. Especially when Clay brought him over three sweetbutts as a peace-offering. He knows how much the man loves his women…"

There was silence from the kitchen and he knew it had been a low blow. When Alice reappeared toting two beers, her smile seemed tacked on.

"Did he, now?" she said, trying to keep up the playful facade; but Juice knew her too well. He could see the disappointment leeching through the cracks. Her offer of sex that night hadn't exactly been meant as an incentive to not sleep with anyone else, but she kind of figured it would at least take the edge of that need. She guessed she just didn't quite know the man in question well enough.

"Yeah, I mean, whatever they got up to. I wouldn't know," Juice attempted to backpedal.

"Yeah," she chuckled, "I hear a lot of men are into four-way cuddling. Come on, Juice, not even I would turn down three free beautiful women."

The corner of his mouth twitched up, but he could still see the hurt in her body language as she teed up their next game; King of the Hill. She never seemed to want the crown for herself, but would aid him through the whole game helping him to nab it and keep it. The synchronicity of their teamwork always brought a smile to his face.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"I know why you did," she replied, eyeing him suspiciously, and he shifted uncomfortably on the floor, forgetting how well she could read him, "But, I mean, I don't know what I expected." For a second he thought she meant from him, then she continued, "Fucking a few times doesn't mean we're suddenly exclusive. I knew what I was getting into."

"Yeah, but I know you like him."

She shrugged and took a chug of her beer as she steered her player behind his, picking off enemies as they attempted to attack him.

"Plenty more assholes where he came from."

Juice smiled and turned to look at her, but she threw him a disapproving look and whacked him on the arm.

"Dude, concentrate!"

He turned back to find his player dead, and Alice groaned.

"I'm going to go get that crown for myself, now, asshole," she told him in a much-too-serious voice, the effects of the alcohol taking hold once more. But Juice just continued to smirk to himself. Maybe Tig had been right; with him out of the picture maybe now he did have a chance.

* * *

"Hey, you heard from our mutual friend, lately," Tig asked conversationally, as he worked on one of the cars, keeping his gaze trained on the front axle. Juice looked over at him, forcing back a smirk, feigning ignorance.

"Nah, why?"

Tig just made a face like it wasn't a big deal. "Just thought maybe she'd gone out on a long job or something."

"She not returning your calls or something, man?" Juice asked innocently. Tig's expression turned a little less casual, catching on to the kid's teasing.

"What did you do?" he asked him.

Juice just mimicked the man's previous expression and replied, face serious. "Nothing, man. Why? Do you think you did something?"

"You told her? Really? That's real fucking petty, man."

Juice chuckled but there was no humor in it. He turned his attention back to the bike he was working on.

"So, what, can't get her the old-fashioned way, so you gotta go behind your own brother's back?"

"It's not like that, man."

"That's what it sounds like to me."

Tig stepped towards him, aiming for intimidation, but for once Juice stood up to him, turning back, wrench in hand, standing his ground. Chibs looked on just beyond them, where he had been wiping the grease from his hands, and rolled his eyes.

"You two sound like a couple of jealous bloody schoolgirls, you know that?" he said to them. "Best sort this shite out before Clay gets wind of it being a problem, and Frankie goes from kissing you, to kissing one of her clients good-bye."

They both looked at the Scotsman, knowing he had a good point. Clay hated fighting between brothers, but more so when it was over something stupid like a woman. He tolerated Frankie because she was useful, but he knew he could find people just as good at what she did – people who wouldn't cause petty quarrels amongst his men. At least he hoped so; with Tig involved petty fighting always became a possibility.

Juice turned away and got back to work, leaving Tig looking thoughtful. Chibs watched him, knowing nothing good could come from that expression. Juice had chosen to be the bigger man, and that just didn't sit right with the Sergeant

"You know what?" he said, "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

He pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Juice asked him.

"Inviting her out to dinner."

Juice scoffed. "Yeah, if she answers."

Chibs shook his head and sighed, turning away from the scene of unfolding stupidity. Tig stood for a moment, phone pressed to his ear, then pulled it away with a look of defeat.

"Let me guess. Still not answering?" Juice asked with mock-sincerity.

"Yeah, still not answering," the other man confirmed. Juice just laughed.

* * *

"I hear you're avoiding Tig," he asked her later that night, as they hit the gym together. Since their night of drunken Xbox playing, they had made a pact to stick to a routine when it came to their fitness. Alice wasn't as strict with her eating since leaving the Marines, growing particularly partial to sweet foods – such as a good-quality pie – but had made sure to keep up with her normal workout regime. As a result, she wasn't quite as ripped as she had been in her touring days, with biceps that had put some of her squad mates to shame, but she still looked like she could out-lift the average woman – often even the average man. She was proving that now as she as Juice shared a barbell, alternating sets of deadlifts. In any other circumstance, Juice might have felt a little self-conscious about lifting the same weight as a woman, but none of the men around them seemed to pay any mind – though that could have had something to do with the looks Alice was giving anyone who stopped what they were doing to throw a very obvious glance in her direction. She just wasn't in the mood for flirting.

"Avoiding? No, I've just been busy with work. You know I don't answer my phone on the job," she lied.

"So you called him back?"

She threw him a look before grunting as she lifted the bar, making the exercise look almost effortless. She dropped it down and blew out the breath she had been holding.

"Nope."

He stared, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Haven't felt the need to."

He pulled a face as he got her meaning. "You? Really?" he said, remembering her energy back when they were kids. He would never admit it, but she had managed to tire even him out. It could have had something to do with her condition – from what he had read the manic part of it did cause a sudden increase in libido. Come to think of it, it might have explained all the other men, too. "Someone else you haven't told me about?" he joked. "I noticed Chibs is being a little friendlier towards you. Finally have an explanation."

"Shut up. No, I just don't feel like dealing with men right now. Besides, if I was going to do anything it wouldn't be with someone else from the MC. Gemma already thinks I've slept my way through half the club."

Juice pretended to count on his fingers and she punched him in the arm. "Asshole." He grinned at her.

"I thought you'd get along with Gemma," he said, "You're both…"

"What?"

"You know."

She stared at him, waiting for him to spit it out.

"Very nice, respectable women," he finished with another grin, before he could dig his hole any deeper. Alice laughed.

"Well, it wasn't for lack of trying. She knew about Happy. Clay must have told her."

"Oh yeah, I bet everyone knows that one by now. Probably even Ope, and he hasn't even been around the club much lately."

"Nice. Good to know my sexual exploits are becoming stuff of legend. It's how I always planned to live my life."

"Your secrets are safe with no one."

"Not even you, Juicy?" she asked, going in for the next lift, managing to grunt out, "You're breaking my heart, kid."

* * *

Stepping out of the shower, she heard the steady thrum of her phone as it vibrated on her nightstand. Looking at the caller ID, she groaned.

Tig.

Guy just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Or, at least, not answering for an answer. Once again, she felt her stubborn head battling with her heart. She considered switching into Frankie mode and telling him where to go, but then she remembered how nice it had been waking up to him; the way his stupid, perverted jokes made her laugh, the way she could be herself around him – her real, genuine, murdery self. She groaned again. She hadn't felt this way about a guy in a long time, especially a guy she had only seen as a one-night stander in the beginning. The carnival date had been cute, she had to admit, and he _had_ volunteered to stick by her while she had cleaned up the spilled clown.

She answered.

"You know, I really oughta contact that Agent Kohn, find out who his victim went through for their restraining order."

"Very funny. What, you don't answer your phone anymore?"

"Is there a problem? And don't say 'yeah, it's in my pants'."

"I wasn't going to. Though I wouldn't mind you checking out that bite again. It's been hurting like a bitch."

"It's called the healing process, princess. Now what's up?"

"What are you doin' tonight?"

She made a face, seeing where this was heading.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"I just got back from the gym."

"So that's a no?"

"What did you have in mind?" she sighed, giving in, leaning back against the wall. She knew exactly where things would lead if she agreed to dinner, and she wasn't sure that she minded, but she still wasn't sure if it was her place to bring up his little playdate at the patch-over. She knew it would come off a little presumptuous, and she really didn't want to make things awkward. But deep down she wasn't sure if she was still comfortable with having him as just a fuck buddy. Dinner wasn't really a fuck buddy thing – neither was a carnival – but she couldn't help but wonder if it was his way of luring her back to bed, with the illusion of it meaning something more. This is why she hated dating. She didn't need the mind games.

"Come over. I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"What can I say? I'm more than just a pretty face, doll."

She found herself smiling and scolded herself for falling so easily into his trap.

"What do you like to eat? Aside from–"

"Don't. Don't even say it," she chuckled.

"What? I was going to say pie." She could hear the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Okay. I'll come over for dinner. Just don't expect me to put out," she half-joked, waiting for his reply.

"Yeah, sure. I'll just pretend I'm Juice for the night."

"Asshole."

"See you soon, sweetheart."

* * *

Tig was nervous. Since his little confrontation with Juice, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Alice; but then he never really had since they had first walked in on her at work. _Sunshine of Your Love_ had come onto the radio at the shop the other day and his thoughts had drifted back to their night together disposing of the taco twins. He had actually found himself smiling, and when Clay had asked him why he was so damn chipper all of the sudden, he found himself scrambling for a lie, replying he had just remembered the first time he had watched a donkey show down in Tijuana. After that, Clay hadn't pressed any further.

Now, as he began to cook their dinner – a simple spaghetti Bolognese recipe he'd picked up from his grandmother decades ago – he thought about what he wanted to say to her. For one, he was going to tell her the truth about the patch-over party. Juice and his big fucking mouth. He couldn't believe the nerve of the fucking kid. If they had one rule as a club, it was 'what happened on the road, stayed on the road'. Even if he had fucked all of those girls, it was never supposed to get back to the women waiting back home. Which brought him to the next problem; what were his intentions with Alice? For all he knew, she could have been fucking other people too. Happy had been down briefly to help Clay out with the Indian Hills thing; they could easily have hooked up at some point. He had seen the way she had looked at the Nomad when they were boxing – he could only imagine the kind of crazy sex those two had. But he really didn't want to. He didn't want to think about her with other men. And that was when he knew he was really in trouble.

* * *

"This is pretty decent," Alice complimented him before forking up another mouthful of pasta. It felt weird being in such a formal situation with him. Sure, it was at his house, but eating dinner together was a little different to MC parties and disposing of bodies. There was something homely about it. It was then she realized this was her second genuine date with him.

"I used to watch my grandma make it when I was a kid. She used to look after me a lot when my ma couldn't, or if she had to work."

"You really paid attention. I don't know what to say. A man who can cook _and_ fuck? You're a catch, man," she chuckled, and though he knew she was only being playful, the praise brought a little smile to his face.

They ate in silence for a while, thoughts and questions weighing heavily on both of their minds. Had they known they were considering almost the exact same things, it would have made the night a whole lot easier.

"So about the patch-over thing."

Alice looked up at him, eyes a little wide as she took up another mouthful of food.

"I know Juice told you what he thought happened."

"It's fine, man."

"Let me speak."

She couldn't help the smile that broke onto her face at his sudden serious tone, and she nodded for him to continue.

"Clay thought I'd be bummed out about missing the party. And yeah, I would have been. If I hadn't just had more mind blowing sex with an amazing woman a couple of hours beforehand." She blushed a little at that, but was glad to hear it all the same. But you know how we guys are, doll. I didn't want to look like a pussy in front of the others. I took the girls to one of the rooms out back and watched them play. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I let one of them blow me, okay?" he confessed, looking genuinely apologetic.

"Alex, look, I don't even know what this is between us, so you don't need to feel pressured about anything. You don't have to explain yourself. I'm happy with this little pace we got going. It suits me. No expectations. We see each other when we see each other. You don't want to see me for a while, or at all anymore, that's cool. I get it. Your lifestyle kind of dictates that you need that freedom."

"Stop. Stop. I don't think you quite get me yet. I am perfectly capable of having a relationship. I'm just a little rusty. It's been a long time since I even contemplated it."

She furrowed her brow and stared at him. "A relationship?"

"Hm?" he replied, as if the word had never left his mouth.

"How about we make like a junkie in rehab and take it one day at a time? Sound good?"

Slowly, a smile began to grace his features and he nodded. "Yeah, I like that. Just like a junkie."

She chuckled at him and continued on with her dinner, grateful to have gotten the most awkward part out of the way.

"How did you know I knew about the girls, anyway?" she asked.

"Juicy and I had a little 'talk' today."

"A loud one?"

"A little."

She shook her head, but her smile remained fixed. "That's another thing I'm going to have to sort out. I don't want to hurt him. You need to lay off him a little, okay? Don't tease him about being with me. I think it's genuinely hurting him. We had this whole open thing when we were kids…"

"Who, you and Juice? Open relationship?"

"Yeah. He started acting weird after he found out he wasn't the only guy I was seeing. Or the first I'd been with. I think he thought we were each other's firsts."

"You took little Juicy's virginity?" Tig he sniggered, and she threw him a look of warning. "Oh man, that's gold. I can totally see it, too. Explains why he's in love with you. First ones are always hard to shake."

"Geez, thanks for that romantic tidbit."

"It's true. First girl I was with, real hard to shake. Followed me everywhere."

"Yeah, well, family dogs are loyal like that."

"I was talking about my seventh grade girlfriend. Besides, I was definitely not that dog's first," he joked back, and she crinkled her nose, drawing another smile from him. That was another thing – he was sure he hadn't smiled this much in years, certainly not genuine smiles. With Alice he felt lighter, like all the shit that weighed him down on a daily basis went away for a little bit and it was just the two of them teasing and joking around. He was down for as much of that as he could get. He wasn't sure how she managed to keep things so light with all the dark shit she got up to on a daily basis, but he was glad she found a way. It gave him hope that he could too; that he didn't have to always carry around the weight of the things he had done.

"Oh before I forget," he said as she helped him clear the table, "There's this thing on tomorrow night."

"Charming sure has a lot of 'things' going on lately."

"It's a charity thing Gemma's running. Fundraising. 'Taste of Charming', something like that. Raising money for the school library or some shit. You should come down."

"Hey, as long as there's no clowns this time, I'm all for it."

He chuckled and they placed the dishes on the sink, leaning back on the counters opposite one another while they polished off the remainder of their beers.

"If it wasn't such short notice, I'd offer Gemma some of my time. I'll be free anyway. I mean, if I thought she'd take me. She'd probably stick me at the grill as the sausage handler or something."

"Everyone has their strengths." He stepped towards her, putting his bottle sown on the counter to her left, boxing her in.

"Hey, what did I say on the phone," she warned.

He held up his hands in defense. He wasn't even touching her. Staring up at him, at those beautiful electric blue eyes, she remembered how it had felt looking into them as he ate her out and felt a sudden rush of arousal. Sensing this, watching her pupils blow with lust, he leaned in for a deep kiss, lifting her up and resting her atop the bench. She looped one arm around his neck, the other snaking around his waist, pulling him in closer as she wrapped her legs around him. She pulled back, and seeing him just as turned on as she was, cursed at her lack of self-control. "Goddammit," was all she said as she pulled him back in for an even deeper kiss, grinding her hips against his.

"Come on," he told her, stepping back and taking her hand. "Bedroom's this way."

And against her own promise to herself, she followed him.


	8. Chapter 8: Tig (iii)

_**Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **TIG (iii)**

Alice had always made a habit of judging a person based on their house and the way they chose to decorate it. She had a thing about photos and what people chose to display. Photos were always a good indicator of what people cared about the most, and that information always proved useful, especially to someone in her line of work. In her own house, for example, she displayed only photos of family and friends – nothing to indicate she had spent any time in the military. Not only did this serve the purpose of helping to cover some of the truth to her true identity, it also helped her separate that period of her life, as well as her current line of work, from her home life. Tig, it seemed, did not believe in such a thing.

The first framed photo she stopped by was an old one of Tig and Clay at what looked like their first year at Teller-Morrow. They were both so young, with Clay's hair still sporting all of its natural, color. Tig looked much the same, though his eyes seemed to be missing that haunted quality he carried with him now, and she couldn't help but wonder what had brought that on; his time as a Marine, or his time with the club. As she continued along the hallway, taking in more photos of the club in its younger days, as well as one of two little girls she guessed to be his daughters, she stopped once again as another caught her eye. Though she could make out most of the platoon in the photograph, the spiderweb of cracks in the glass made it difficult to read the name of the division and the date on the plaque in front of them. She wondered why he hadn't changed the frame. Her eyes continued to move along the faces of the men, finally coming to a stop when she reached Tig and a second man beside him that she knew fairly well. A grin spread across her face.

"What the hell?" she murmured to herself, brows pulling together with amusement.

Lying in front of them was a beautiful German Shepard, its leash held tightly by Tig while the other man rested his hand on its side.

"What are you doing?"

Tig half-expected her to jump, but Alice was a lot harder to sneak up on than that. She turned, still smiling broadly.

"I didn't realize that you served with Kozik."

Tig's eyes darted from her to the photo, a look of inexplicable disdain crossing his features.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked again. She supposed it would have looked a little odd to find her prowling his hallway so early in the morning with nothing to show for it but a suspicious grin and uncomfortable questions.

"I was getting a glass of water," she replied. He glanced down at her empty hands.

"I drank it already."

They stared at each other for a moment, knowing they were both harboring unanswered truths to the other's questions.

"You want to tell me what happened here?" she asked, gesturing to the broken glass, though his obvious avoidance of the subject, and her familiarity with some of Kozik's history gave her enough to draw her own conclusions.

"How do you know him?" Tig asked. They started back towards the bedroom.

"I met him in Tacoma, when I was there working my second job with Happy."

Tig paused in the doorway, leaning with one hand against the frame as he blocked her path. He rested his forehead against his bicep for a moment, then looked to her and said, "Please tell me you didn't sleep with him."

She frowned at the forlorn way he posed the question.

"Yeah, he and Happy had themselves a Frankie spitroast," she joked, before quickly adding, "No, I did not sleep with him."

She wanted to ask why it was such a big deal, but there was a sharpness to eyes that she hadn't seen before, let alone had directed at her, and she found she didn't want to push him.

"Don't joke about that."

He moved towards the bed and took a seat on the edge, head hung slightly as he rubbed at his temple.

"Uh, I gotta head into the shop early," he told her, "Clay just called. Some club stuff."

She stared at him for a moment before the meaning behind his words struck her.

"Oh, right."

"I'm real sorry, doll. I don't mean to kick you out like this."

"Just don't want to leave me digging up any more Kozik dirt, hey?" she joked before she could stop herself, and the look he gave her in response was enough to make her want to leave anyway. He cracked a forced smile and she smoothed a hand back through her hair. "Okay. Just, uh, let me grab my stuff."

She glanced around the room, spotting various items of her discarded clothing, and set to work collecting them.

"Hey," she heard as she snatched up her pair of jeans. She glanced over at Tig and he gestured for her to come over. "C'mere." She cocked an eyebrow, sporting a playful smile, and tossed her jeans on the bed next to her bra and tank top. She strolled over and stopped in front him. He grabbed her hands and pulled her closer until she was straddling his lap, then pulled her down into a kiss that had her wishing more than anything that she could stay.

"I'll see you tonight at Gemma's thing," he promised her as she stared down at him, eyes big and full of wanting. He was glad to see that despite his sudden bout of moodiness, that she was still more than willing to tolerate him. She kissed him again, then pulled away and moved back towards her clothes.

"Hey, if you see Gemma, could you tell her I'm happy to come down early and help set up?" she went on as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. "Sort of a peace offering, I guess. Don't tell her I said peace offering, though. Just say I'm happy to help."

"Why don't you come down and tell her yourself?" he asked, receiving a wide-eyed look in return. He chuckled.

"I think she'll take it better coming from you. If she knows you've been seeing me more often, she might stop thinking of me as the interstate sweetbutt."

He smirked at that and shook his head.

"Why the hell does she make you so nervous, anyway?"

Alice glanced over at him as she tugged on her jeans, her expression skeptical. She knew all of the men were just as scared of the biker queen.

"Because she's not afraid of me. You know how rare that is? And I'm not even bragging. Most of my clients literally sweat when we sit down for meetings."

"You think we're scared of you?"

She threw him a look and he cackled.

"You're right. We're terrified. But we're more scared o' her."

"I knew it."

She chuckled as she pulled on her boots, the finishing touch to her outfit, and then got to her feet, grabbing her handbag as she moved back towards him. He stood up, his 6'1" frame towering over her 5'6" one, but the more she got to know him, the less she felt she had to fear. The man was sort of like a big, perverted teddy bear, deep down.

He walked with her to the front door, the cracked photo frame mocking him as he walked past, and they shared one last, deep kiss. He smiled when they parted, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone, as they did every time they shared a kiss; even more so during sex. If only Kozik could see him now – getting like this over a woman again…He shook the thought from his head. After watching her take off on that god-awful Ducati of hers, he headed back towards the bedroom to grab his gear. He paused in the hallway, staring into the eyes of the man who had been responsible for the death of the one girl he had ever truly loved. He felt the urge to send his fist into the covering glass again, as he had all those years ago after the man had broken the news to him, but instead he simply picked the photo up and turned it on its hook to face the wall.

* * *

"You're kidding, right?"

" _Nah. Guy started jerking it right in front of us. Funniest thing I've ever seen_ ," Tig replied. He had called her with the intention of passing on Gemma's surprisingly positive response over the offer of help for the fundraiser, and instead had got caught up giving her a rundown of the latest absurdity to wander through the Teller-Morrow gates.

"Are you bringing him tonight?" she asked through a chuckle.

" _Yeah, we'll put him right next to Bobby's Elvis stand. Great show for the kids_."

She broke into full, genuine laughter at that and he almost forgot the point of the call, smiling instead at her happy little sound.

" _Oh yeah, Gem said she wants you there at around three. Thing opens at five and she wants to make sure she's got everything ready to go. She may even end up putting you to work. You sure you're ready for that?_ "

Alice chuckled again. "Yeah, big guy, I've got it handled. Did she say where?"

" _Well, she said they've got like three pounds of sausages for the grill, and she can't think of anyone better to handle that much meat._ "

She snorted, then her smiled faltered some. "Wait, did she really say that?"

" _Oh, yeah. I told her to ease up a little. I think she's under the impression you're my old lady now."_

"Oh no," Alice laughed.

" _I know. Terrible, right?_ "

"Hey, why don't they get this Chucky guy down there? He sounds like a more-than-qualified meat handler."

" _I've had my mouth in some pretty questionable places, I'll admit that, but hell if I'm eating anything that man's touched._ "

"Gross."

" _Exactly. Alright, I'll see you tonight, doll._ "

"See you then."

As Tig hung up, a content little smile still on his face, he found his club brothers staring at him.

"That Frankie?" Bobby asked, drawing a knowing smirk out of Jax, who was leaning back against the bar with his arms folded.

"Yeah, why?" Tig asked.

"No reason," Bobby replied, exchanging a glance with their VP.

"What?"

"She gonna be there tonight?" Jax asked him, reigning in his amusement at the Sergeant's defensive behavior.

"Yeah, she's helping your ma out with things."

"That's nice of her. She didn't have to do that."

"Isn't that the point of volunteering?"

"I guess so."

Jax exchanged another look with Bobby.

"Come on, just say it," Tig said to them, seeing the playful judgement lurking behind their eyes.

"You been spending a lot of time with this one, is all," Bobby replied with a shrug.

"You like her," Jax guessed, voice teasing.

"What can I say, she knows how I like my dick sucked," Tig told them in his usual, unorthodox manner of deflecting uncomfortable questions. He felt a pang of guilt at talking about her in such a way, and that was his second indication that he was already in too deep. He headed towards the front door of the clubhouse to find Clay, but not before throwing a look at Chucky, who had been privy to the entire phone conversation, careful not to let on to his disappointment as he overheard everything.

Chucky had been their latest prison pick-up; a favor for incarcerated club member, Big Otto, who had befriended the man whilst behind bars. Since securing him at the door, the club members had been quick to find the man had a slight problem; what he referred to as Compulsive Masturbation Syndrome. Basically, whenever he felt uncomfortable, he would start jerking off – and Chucky was a very nervous man. This likely came from his stint as the bookkeeper for the Chinese mafia, which had turned sour after the slight miscalculation that had landed him in prison to begin with, and which had left the Lin Triad with a violent grudge against him. Though Big Otto had done his best to help protect the small man, he had still received his fair share of beatings at the hands of those Chinese on the inside.

"Who's Frankie?" he asked Bobby and Jax as Tig disappeared out the door.

"Friend of the club," Jax replied. "You'll probably meet her."

"Yeah, just take it easy with the, you know," Bobby told him, making a vulgar gesture to mimic the felon's compulsive problem, and Jax smirked. "Otherwise she might cut it off."

The color drained from the man's face as he glanced between the two, Jax cocking an eybrow to suggest that the older biker wasn't kidding.

"I accept that. I'm gonna, uh, I'm going to go see if Clay wants help with anything," Chucky told them, following after Tig towards the door, looking as nervous as ever. They didn't fail to notice his hand slip inside his pants as he walked off.

"I know we owe Otto a lot of favors," Jax said to Bobby, watching him go, "But I don't know, man. This guy?"

"Give a man an inch, he'll give you a man who won't let go of his five."

Jax just snorted and downed the rest of his beer.

* * *

"No, more to the left. A little more. No, that's too far. You want me to send someone else up there?"

Alice fought to keep from rolling her eyes as she repositioned the banner for the umpteenth time, following Gemma's instructions to the T.

"That'll have to do, I guess," the older woman finally gave in, not willing to acknowledge the decent job that had been done.

"Who came up with this one?" Alice asked, jerking her thumb up at the Charming Police Department's signage, which read ' _Grilling Suspects for Over Fifty Years'_.

"Probably one of Unser's eager little officers. Good thing Charming's such a quiet town, huh? Otherwise you think they might have better things to do."

"They'd want to be careful with things like that," Alice told her, "They wouldn't want to use up their wit quota for the month."

A ghost of a smile flittered across the other woman's mouth, but just as quickly as Alice picked up on it, it was gone.

"Come on," she told her, "We still got a shitload more to do."

* * *

By the time the boys of SAMCRO rocked up, all the stalls were set up, volunteers in place, families flooding in to show their support. Alice stood by the carpark, tasked with keeping an eye out for Bobby, who was running almost an hour late for his Elvis stand after club business with Chucky had kept them all back. After lying about some money he had filtered out of the Lin Triad over his time working for them – money that was essentially the whole reason Clay had agreed to offer the man protection on the outside, said money turning out to be counterfeit – the boys had handed him over to the Chinese leader, Henry Lin, to do with as he pleased. It seemed Frankie wouldn't be meeting him any time soon.

"Hey!" she greeted them now as they rolled their bikes to a halt in front of her. She glanced around. "Aw, you mean didn't bring the compulsive masturbator?" she asked, feigning disappointment.

Removing his helmet, Jax smirked. "What are you talking about? Tig's right here."

They shared a laugh and she glanced over to see the butt of the joke giving them a sarcastic look.

"Gemma's pissed," Alice told Bobby, and he started moving a little faster.

"On it," he assured her, hurrying off towards his stall.

Jax approached her, laying a hand on her shoulder as he gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

"I see I've graduated to a kiss on the cheek," she smirked. "I feel so special."

"Keep playin' your cards right, darlin', and you'll graduate to more than that."

They chuckled again, but suddenly she was accosted by Tig, who pulled her in for a very territorial kiss on the mouth. After they pulled apart, she shot Jax an apologetic look.

"Sorry, kid. Looks like this seat's taken."

They started off in the direction of the main set-up, Tig with his arm in its accustomed spot around Alice's shoulders.

"So what's my ma got you doin'?" Jax asked.

"Well, she put me on Bobby-spotting duty, so now that's over I haven't got a clue. Whatever she thinks I'm capable of not stuffing up, I guess."

She looked over at him, hoping the comment alluding to his mother's controlling nature hadn't offended him. She was glad to see him smirking.

"Just keep pushing her," he replied, "The more you push back, the more she'll like you. I can guarantee it. If there's one thing my mother can't stand, it's a kiss ass."

"We might be in trouble, then," Tig said, tightening his grip around her shoulders, "This one's a renowned ass-kisser."

Thinking back to the night he was referring to, when she had stitched him up, Alice couldn't help but smirk.

"You're one to talk."

"You got a kissable ass, doll, what do you want me to say?"

Jax smiled at the playful banter before the two, when a familiar face caught his attention. Opie moved towards them, arm around his wife, Donna, their two kids in tow.

"Hey, Frankie, there's someone I wanna introduce you to."

Jax waved them over and Alice threw a look at Tig. He was more than a little happy at the way his VP was acting towards her, as if he had already accepted her into the family. The way he introduced her now had him smiling even more.

"Ope, this here's Frankie. Friend of the club," he told his best friend, tipping him a wink as he glanced up at Tig. Opie looked over at the Sergeant, then extended his hand to meet Frankie's.

"I've heard a bit about you from Juice," she told him.

"That so?" He glanced around at his club brothers. Since he had only recently been released from prison after a five year stint, he hadn't really had the chance to get to know their latest patchee, so he wasn't sure what the kid would have had to say about him. "I've heard some things about you, too."

"Nothing good, I'm sure," she replied, drawing the first shadow of a smile out of him. She turned her own smile on his wife, and Donna returned it in a way that seemed oddly forced. "You going to get dressed up like Elvis?" Alice asked their son, who gave a shy shake of the head. "Yeah, I don't blame you." The boy smiled and the others chuckled.

Throughout the introductions, Alice couldn't help but notice the way Jax kept looking past them, over towards an older man and his…daughter? Girlfriend? It was hard to tell. The man's behavior towards her seemed stilted and reigned in, as if he hadn't made up his mind yet if he was embarrassed by the age difference, or eager to show her off. At one point she met Jax's gaze, but his eyes gave away nothing to the questioning glint of her own.

"Alright, well, I better go check in with my mom," he told them, with one last nod to Opie and his family. Opie glanced over his shoulder one last time, exchanging a look with the mystery man, then headed off to find the kids something to do.

"Might not be my place," Alice said to Tig as they slowly followed suit, their own pace slow and casual. "But can I assume you guys aren't too friendly with Henry Rollins look-a-like over there?"

Tig glanced over at the man in question, a hint of warning to his expression, and the man placed him arm around his own girl, making sure to keep his distance.

"He used to be SAMCRO," Tig explained in low tones, "He and Ope were sent on a run together. He was meant to be the getaway driver. He got away, alright. Left Ope high and dry. Ope ended up serving five years for us, just about lost his family over it. Donna nearly filed for divorce, but she took him back after he promised to stay on the straight and narrow. Douchebag over there got himself excommunicated."

"Ah. So that's why Juice said Opie's been taking some family time."

"Right."

"I always kind of figured the club was a 'ride or die' kind of deal. So Opie's…out?"

"Thing about SAMCRO, you're never really out. The club becomes your family. No matter how far you go, you can never really escape your family, can you?"

"No, I guess not."

She watched the man lead his girlfriend towards a crowd of kids, stopping by to watch the entertainment.

"Talk about jailbait, huh?"

Tig chuckled. "Yeah, but then you ain't exactly my age either, are you?"

She smiled up at him. "Is this about to turn into the 'daddy' conversation?" she joked.

"Only if you want it to," he replied, grinning.

* * *

It was getting dark when she received the call to come to the clubhouse. The boys had left in a hurry a little earlier, presumably to deal with more club business, leaving an annoyed Gemma in the lurch with her Elvis stand. Alice had remained behind with the intention of helping with the cleanup and pack-up after a local teen band had played their set and the fireworks display that Opie was helming had come to a close. Instead, she had received a rather dubious call from Jax asking that she meet at the clubhouse, but remain outside until someone came out to get her. Frowning, but used to vague instructions from her clients – usually for security reasons, or more often than not for the element of surprise – she had followed the instructions, pulling up in her Dodge and waiting until Half-Sack came out to collect her.

"Jax told me to let you in on what's happening," he said, and from the tone of his voice she got the feeling he was still a little uncomfortable around her. It could have had something to do with the way she had disposed of the body of the clown, during which she had come to realize that despite being a pending member of the club, he had yet to be exposed to some of its darker dealings.

"That would be nice," she smiled as he led the way.

"He said that guy you were asking about earlier?"

"Tig already gave me the rundown, but yeah?"

"Well, he's still got his tattoo. You know the one the guys get when they become full members? It's basically the same as the patch, but most guys choose to get it on their backs, sort of like a permanent reminder of who they are, and where their, uh, loyalties lie and stuff."

"Okay, I get it. Sort of like a display of their commitment to the club."

"Yeah, exactly."

"So what's that got to do with me being here? Am I here to get an honorary patch-in tattoo or something?" she joked, and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or not, face pulling into a smile that quickly became awkward. She had to admit, the kid was a bit adorable.

"Nah, um, when a person's kicked out of the club, like Kyle was, they're supposed to get their tattoo blacked out so they can't say they're affiliated anymore."

"And let me guess, Kyle didn't?"

Half-Sack gave a nod as they neared the door to Gemma's office, he let her step through first, then closed and locked it, moving to the door that adjoined to the garage.

"So what do they do to the people who don't get it blacked out?"

They stepped into the garage.

Kyle stood shirtless in the center of the room, surrounded by infuriated members of the club.

"Fire or knife?" Clay asked him. Before he could answer, all eyes had turned to Alice.

"Who the hell is she?" Kyle asked, receiving looks of warning all around. He wasn't exactly in a position to be asking questions.

"She's ya medic," Clay replied. "She's here to make sure you don't die. Because that would be oh so very unfortunate."

"Well, that answers my next question," Alice muttered to herself, stretching out her neck as she prepared to take on the role. Since she was aware that Juice and Chibs were out of town on other business – Chibs being the clubs makeshift medic in scenarios such as this – and since the club didn't particularly want this man's murder hanging over their heads with the ATF still sniffing around, it made sense that they would call her in. She had to admit, her medical abilities hadn't been used this much by a client in, well, ever. She was usually the one inflicting the hurt, not overseeing the recovery.

"Now answer the question," Jax said to him. Kyle clenched his jaw as he debated his next move. He looked back at the man who had once respected him, eyes pleading for clemency.

"Jax."

But any shred of mercy Jax had held for the man quickly disappeared seeing him beg like that. Sons didn't beg; they took the punishment like a man. Kyle dropped his head, then after a moment finally replied, "Fire."

"Well, alright," Tig said, with what might have been a hint of anticipation, stepping over to the blowtorch that sat atop one of the toolboxes. His eyes met Frankie's briefly, and realized he wanted her to watch him at work as he had once watched her. It was like some bizarre courtship dance; or as Bobby's alter ego might have put it, a sort of _Burning Love._

Jax passed Kyle a bottle of whiskey to help take some edge off the coming pain, the show of mercy a nod to what he had once been to the club. Bobby and Piney then grabbed his arms, yanking them apart to attach to the chains they had waiting on one of the hydraulic lifts. Once they had him in place, they splashed his back with some of the alcohol to help the fire find its mark, ignoring the grunts this elicited from their excommunicated brother. Behind them, Tig lit up his torch and closed his eyes for a moment, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. When he opened them again, there was a glint there that Frankie was familiar with; he had flipped his switch.

Jax took a long drag from the bottle of whiskey before offering it to Frankie, but she declined, arms folded across her chest as she patiently waited for the show to begin. It was rare these days that she became an observer in these situations, and having been given the chance to watch someone she was gradually growing close to carry out the act, she found herself stuck in a sort of morbid curiosity. Tig slowly began to run the flame across the alcohol-soaked flesh, his face the epitome of concentration. Kyle's scream began to fill the room, and it was about this time Frankie would have been cueing up the music to cover it; but that wasn't how the Sons of Anarchy rolled. When they dished out punishment, they allowed themselves to hear every ounce of the pain being delivered. The unmistakable smell of burning human flesh began to fill the room, turning the stomachs of those not familiar with it. For those who had served in the military, it was a reminder of some of the horrors they had borne witness to; to veterans of another kind, like Frankie, it was almost unnoticeable. It wasn't that she had grown used to the smell, but had simply trained herself not to notice it as much anymore.

Kyle continued to convulse against the lift, the chains around his wrists rattling with every movement, but it wasn't long before his head dropped forward as he fell into a merciful state of unconsciousness. Frankie had to give him credit; he had lasted a lot longer than most. Remembering the reason she was there, she stepped up towards him and checked his pulse just to be sure. It wouldn't be the first time she had lost one to the pain. She glanced over at Clay, who was in the process of lighting up a stogie, and gave a nod.

"If you want to wait until he's conscious again, it'll probably be another twenty minutes or so," she told them, receiving some uncomfortable looks in return, as if they had almost forgotten who they were dealing with.

"No, we'll finish it now," Jax told her, giving Tig a nod of go-ahead. Pain wasn't the point of this.

Glancing around the room, Frankie found it interesting to see how each member was taking in the scene before them. Over from his seat in the corner, Clay had an expression of mild-displeasure, as if, despite being the one to give order, he still wasn't happy to be the one to give the final nod for shit like this. Piney simply looked on with barely-masked horror; even after all these years, still not able to fathom some of the things the club did. Behind him, Bobby had his head turned, refusing to bear witness even though she knew the smell would stay with him for a long time to come. Beside where she stood, Half-Sack looked like he was caught between throwing up and passing out. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, earning a grateful look in return. Jax's expression was pure malice, and she wasn't sure if it was his excessive attempt to mask the horror he was really feeling, or he was simply a lot thicker-skinned than she had given him credit for. But it was Tig's expression that interested her the most. She almost hated to admit it, as if it was a discredit to her sanity, but the intense focus of his eyes and the way he looked like he was almost enjoying himself turned her on immensely. When he glanced over at her and met her gaze, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

When it was finally over and done with, they released Kyle from his binds and allowed his body to collapse to the cold cement floor below. Frankie checked him over and gave a nod of approval; he would be okay to transport. Holding out her hand for the bottle of alcohol, she tipped the remainder of it over his open wound to stave off any infection that the fire hadn't killed, thankful on his behalf that he was unconscious for that part of it, then told them to go and grab a blanket. She went with Tig to make the drop-off, driving one of their vans to the nearest hospital, stopping briefly out the front of the emergency doors to allow her partner in crime a moment to dispose of the ex-member. Then, as she had predicted, they pulled over to relieve their growing frustrations; all that built-up depravity culminating into a roadside quickie.

When they arrived back at the shop, Tig invited her in for a drink, but for the first time she declined, citing an early morning job as her reason. She wasn't lying, of course, but after the night's events and watching poor Half-Sack clean up the garage floor that was covered in a waxy substance he was trying not to think too hard about, she knew she would rather call it an early night. It was when she was striding back towards her car that she spotted Jax sitting up on the roof top.

* * *

 _Author's note down the bottom for once! I was actually considering dropping this story to one update a week so I could focus on other things in my life, but it's becoming all-consuming. My muse is more ever-present than ever for this one, it seems. I've also been considering adding a little note or something after each chapter, entitled 'Frankie's Happy Tunes' that would say which song I had in mind for the chapter, but usually it's a song already mentioned. In this case, the_ Burning Love _thing just sort of popped into my head, but as I listened to it while writing the scene, I couldn't help but laugh; it actually fits it perfectly. It's pretty dark, but it works. Thanks again for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9: Jax (i)

_Just as I claimed to be on a roll, I lost my momentum. It's taken me a little while to figure out how to write the next few chapters. I know what I want to write about, but I felt there was some key events in the show that should be included too. I knew as soon as I started this chapter that I was trying to shove too much into it, so I decided to break it into two and at least get something out for you guys. I'm not happy with it, in fact I almost deleted it altogether – feels sort of like the last few chapters were a good run, and this is where I stumbled. At least I know once I pass this things will pick up again. Fingers crossed._

 _Cool little fact I learned, though – I have a playlist for this story on Spotify named after Frankie's – '_ My Happy Tunes' _– and I decided to see if there were any songs called '_ Flip the Switch _'. Turn out by a bizarre coincidence that there is a_ Rolling Stones _song by the same title, and it fits Alice/Frankie really well. Completely unintentional, mind you. The title of this story comes from the story behind Alice's pseudonym, which will be revealed in a few chapters. Anyway, thanks again for reading and reviewing!_

 ** _Series Content Warning_** _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **JAX (i)**

"Hey."

He closed the folder he was pouring over as if she had caught him in a moment of secret revision, one finger still holding his page as he looked over at her. Her expression was that of a person who knew they had interrupted a private moment, and she looked almost immediately guilty.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to– I saw you up here and thought I'd…You know, I'm not actually sure what."

He had never heard her at such a loss for words. In the short time he had known her, Frankie had always seemed so in control; so sure of herself. She stared off over the roof, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket as she approached the edge.

"It's okay," Jax said, putting the folder aside as he watched her.

"It's a nice spot up here," she commented.

He gazed off in the same direction as her and nodded. "Yeah, it is. I usually come up here to clear my head."

"Does it work?"

He gave a light, almost imperceptible huff through his nose. "Not always."

Glancing over at him, Alice could see that this was one of those occasions. His face was heavy with dark thoughts and bad memories. She would have put it down to what they had just witnessed in the garage, but it seemed more than that. She considered her next words carefully.

"Juice mentioned the situation with your kid and your ex. Didn't know if it was my place to say anything, but I hope they're doing okay."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." He looked up at her again, this time with a small smile, taking in her distant expression, feeling as if he was seeing a different side of her. Was this the side Juice and Tig had gotten to know? She was without her cold, hardened façade and appeared more human for it. There was a lightness about her, a different energy despite her obviously distracted thoughts. "My kid's doing a lot better now. It was touch and go for a while, but he made it through. Won't be long now until he's out."

"Tough one like his dad, huh?"

His smile widened. "I guess so."

He saw her eyes go to the empty spot beside him and he gestured for her to take a seat. She did so, now sporting a grateful smile of her own.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for this club over the past few weeks," he said, turning his head to look at her, a cascade of golden-blonde locks falling over his shoulder as he did. "And whether that's because of Juice, or because of Tig, I'm still grateful regardless. I know you don't owe us any loyalty, and I doubt Clay would ever actually admit it out loud, but you've done us a real service. We could've gotten into a lotta trouble if it weren't for you."

Alice smiled to herself, hardly used to such praise from a client, and though dozens of responses raced through her head, she settled for the simplest of them.

"Happy to help."

He smiled.

They sat in silence for a little while, enjoying the serenity of the night, feeling their heads gradually clearing of the night's events. Alice smiled to herself. This rooftop meditation really did work.

"Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly, bringing her out of her comfortable daze. When she glanced over, she noticed that troubled look again. "Your line of work, it's not dissimilar to some of the shit we do." He looked up at her, eyes searching hers for answers, and said, "The violence. Does it ever bother you?"

The question threw her for a moment. She of course had her method – the simple theory of flipping a switch in the brain to block it all out afterwards – but there were times when the switch became stuck in the middle; where violence also called for mercy, and she found herself uncertain which side of her was going to show. She glanced back out over the roof and into the enclosing darkness. Her mind wandered and came to a stop in front of the heavy, iron doors of her bunker; her Graveyard.

"Yeah. Yeah, sometimes it does."

She waited for further questions, but this seemed to be all the answer he needed as he gave an accepting nod. Maybe he was simply glad to know that he wasn't alone in this feeling – surrounded by men who seemed desensitized to such actions. Alice sat a little while longer, feeling that he needed the quiet company, then cast a glance at her watch. It was getting late.

"Well, I better get going before Tig finds me and starts accusing us of things I think we'd both rather not be accused of."

Jax chuckled, but the sound was soft, distracted.

"I had to sneak past him just to get up here. Man's insatiable."

"Yeah, sounds like Tig." He glanced over at her as she rose and moved to approach the hatch that led back down into the clubhouse. "Hey, just out of curiosity, this thing between you and him? That goin' somewhere?"

"You asking for him, or yourself?" she joked as she started climbing down, cracking a smile he found endearing. "I'm not sure yet," she added thoughtfully, but her quietly happy expression said otherwise. "Guess we'll see how long I can put up with him."

She started her descent once more, but paused.

"Hey, Teller?"

He looked over.

"If you need anything, you've got my number," she told him, and he knew she didn't mean just mean for the club.

* * *

She didn't return for a few days after that, though she'd heard from Juice about a raid by the ATF; some new agent sniffing around. A woman. Real piece of work, if his story was anything to go by. He had made it a habit to keep her up-to-date on anything involving the feds, as if it somehow involved her too now that she was helping them out more and more, but personally she felt his concern was unfounded. She had never been caught, didn't have a record, and had enough contacts from her time at Guantanamo to get her out of any sticky spots she found herself in with the law. She didn't see herself as a target.

As usual, the ATF hadn't had any real evidence to go on with the club, aside from a few suspicions, but the boys had narrowly avoided being caught in possession of illegal firearms, and were it not for some quick thinking from Jax, they would have been preparing themselves for a long vacation in San Joaquin. The unfortunate downside of his plan was that they'd had to sell the guns at a huge discount just to move them, which put them in the red with their Irish suppliers. It seemed just as one issue was taken care of, another came along – they would have to find a way to make up the difference themselves.

Alice rolled onto the lot in her Dodge, and was heading for Juice's dorm when she spotted the guys hanging around a bench by the boxing ring. Half-Sack was in the middle of throwing a beat down on a guy she didn't recognize, his form actually kind of impressive. She knew he would have had the same training as her, minus her extra years of experience on tour, since he had only served on one, but she recognized a lot of his technique from the Corps.

She already had Tig's attention – drawn by the familiar rumble of her car – but the others turn to greet her as she approached.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Tig asked from his seat on the bench, as she clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Juice is helping me out with something," she replied, then, catching the questioning glint in his eye, added, "Work related."

He simply nodded, and stared up at her before she finally gave in and planted a peck on his lips, coming away with pink cheeks and a smile. Clay, who had also not long arrived, glanced over at them, expression much the same as it usually was when she was around – barely concealed suspicion. He hadn't failed to notice the way his best friend acted around her, and quite frankly it concerned him how quickly the man seemed to be getting involved. He had never seen him like this – not since his first wife, and they all knew how well that had gone for him. He could understand the similarities between the two that might draw them together, but that didn't mean he liked it. The woman made his skin crawl. At least he'd had time to get used to most of Tig's peculiarities.

"What's going on here?" she asked, nodding towards Half-Sack. The boy had finished his latest round and was making his way out of the ring towards a young woman who was leaning back casually on another table, watching with a suggestive smile.

"Training the lad," Chibs replied.

"He's gonna fight?"

He nodded.

"He's not half-bad," she said, but Clay seemed to disagree.

"Against an ex-junkie, maybe. Doesn't mean he's gonna win any fights once he gets thrown into the real deal."

"How's Sugar Ray One-Nut going?"

They turned to see Jax approaching. He spotted Alice and gave a friendly nod, which she returned. Tig glanced between them. As much as he liked the idea of having at least one of his presidents – vice or otherwise – on good terms with her, he had noticed the strange little bond growing between the two. Though he had heard from Gemma that Jax was in the process of rekindling old flames with his ex, Tara – the doctor overseeing the care of his newborn son – he was also familiar with the kid's track record when it came to women; not dissimilar to his own; but that was where their similarities ended. He and Jax had never really seen eye-to-eye when it came to most things; Tig tending to be more a 'fists first, questions later' kind of guy, something his role usually called for. Jax was smarter, more cunning, and liked to know what he was dealing with before he went in guns blazing – in that regard, he was a lot like Frankie. Tig eyed the boy as he came to a casual halt beside her now.

"He's wicked fast," Chibs replied. "He's got a great right hook."

"Who's the guy he was with?"

"Lowell, one of our mechanics," Jax replied, hands shoved into his jean pockets, "Might not be the best example of how to win a fight, though."

He had a point there – Lowell was a skinny, pale lad, and though he looked like he was having a lot of fun helping out with the training, he also looked like a strong breeze might blow him over; he certainly had the build of an ex-junkie.

Looking at her now, Tig caught Alice gazing off towards the ring. He had seen the same look in her eyes the night he had fought Happy – it wasn't a desire for the man in the ring, it was a desire to be in there with him.

"You know what would be really funny?" he said, and she glanced over at him, lips curling into a smirk as she read his mind. Tig chuckled and turned to the Scotsman. "Let Frankie have a go." Though they had never actually had the conversation, Alice was pleased he still referred to her by her pseudonym in front of the others. He knew she had entrusted him with her real name when she had felt comfortable enough to do so, and he wasn't about to squander that level of trust.

Chibs thought it over, glancing at Clay, who seemed just as amused by the idea, even if he was trying not to show it. Ever since he had overheard Half-Sack make a crude little comment about Gemma giving him 'serious MILF chubby', Clay had had it out for the boy. The young woman eyeballing the kid from the sidelines, a sweetbutt they'd run into during the last patch over party, had been his first way of getting back at him. Just as the two had been getting cozy in the Indian Hills clubhouse, the Sons' president had dragged her pretty little ass into one of the back dorms, knowing full well that the kid couldn't do a thing about it – not if he really wanted that patch. Thinking it over now, Clay just shrugged. There was no harm in it – besides, with everything going on, he could use the entertainment.

"Sack! Get over here!" Chibs called to him. The kid looked over with startled confusion. He spotted Alice for the first time, attention finally drawn away from the girl still fawning over him, and he gave her a smile and a nod. His girl seemed to take notice of that, but didn't let it show in her expression – she'd had years of experience at keeping a poker face around men.

"Who's she?" she asked him, and though there was no jealousy in her voice, he picked up on the concern.

"Friend of the club," he replied, offering her a reassuring smile. She had nothing to worry about. There was no chance in the world of anything ever happening between him and the mercenary – he was absolutely terrified of her. "What's up?" he said, as he made his approach.

"You're gonna fight Frankie," Clay informed him. Noticing the touch of amusement in his president's voice, not to mention that in the expressions of the others, he paled.

"Wha-What do you mean? I can't- I don't hit women. I mean, I don't wanna-"

"Don't wanna what?" Clay asked, cupping a hand to his ear as he waited for the prospect to take the proposition as ordered.

"Um…" He turned to the woman in question, hoping she might take pity on him as she had times before, but she was already following Chibs to grab some wraps, slipping out of her leather jacket as she moved. She tossed it over to Tig, who caught it with a grin, his sharp, blue eyes on the prospect. Half-Sack swallowed nervously and gave a nod.

"Now get in the ring," Clay said.

"We sure this is a good idea?" Jax asked, though he couldn't help his own curiosity. He hadn't seen a woman climb into the ring before – at least, not one that wasn't drunk and looking to fuck one of the fighters. He could honestly say the only fights the club ever saw around there involving women were catfights in the parking lot between sweetbutts and croweaters, or the kind that involved a kiddie pool and a ton of baby oil.

"I got fifty bucks on her," Tig said to no one in particular, receiving a smile from Alice as she waited in her corner while Chibs gave the lad a talking to. She wondered what he could possibly be saying to him. Pointing out her weaknesses? Chibs had never seen her stomach scar, but Half-Sack certainly had, and she wondered if that was the first place he would aim. She would have to be ready for that – she knew any blows to that area would wind her, and she didn't really feel like losing Tig any money. She knew he'd make her make it up to him. She could only hope that he had forgotten about the morgues that owed her favors. She really wasn't interested in a frosty three-way.

"Alright. Go get 'er," Chibs said.

As Half-Sack approached, she could read the uncertainty on his face clear as day. He didn't want to hit a woman; certainly not in front of his girl. He raised his fists and took up a defensive stance, waiting for her to make the first move before he would make up his mind. She left herself open just to see what he would do. The moment he saw this, his instinct kicked in and he took a swing, the hook landing her in the right cheek. Both the boy and the audience cringed, but she was quick to shake it off. It was after the second and third blow that they started to question the woman's ability.

"What the hell is she doing?" Tig muttered, leaning forward in his seat, watching with avid eyes. He gazed at the line of blood trailing from her nose, but the smile on her face spoke in direct contrast to her apparent position in the match. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, especially if the marks on those carnies were anything to go by – she had taken on at least three of them on her own; not controlled boxing like this, but straight up, dirty street-fighting. He couldn't understand why she was letting herself lose. Sack landed one more blow, looking guilty as hell at the state of her face, when she shook it off again and finally took up a proper stance.

"Okay, good warm up," she told him, grinning.

"Huh?" was all he managed to get out, and suddenly she was on him. The first blow to his face knocked him back onto the ropes, receiving a resounding 'Oh!' from the audience as they looked on in surprise at the sudden turn of events. She waited for him to get up before dodging his next attack and landing a well-aimed strike to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. She hooked him in the face again, and it was then that Chibs began to see the problem.

"Alright, that's enough. Time out," he called, earning groans of protest from the others, who had only just begun to enjoy themselves. Regardless of it being played out as a genuine fight, they still needed the kid in top shape for the upcoming fights if he was going to make them any money. Two black eyes and a bunch of broken ribs wouldn't do them any favors.

"We might be betting on the wrong horse," Bobby joked as Alice slid out of the ring and came towards them, catching Sack in a headlock and ruffling his hair. He gave a strained smile, still feeling terrible about the blood and bruises on her face, but chuckled after she whispered something in his ear. She pushed him away with a smile and watched as he moved to take a seat beside his concerned-looking young woman. It wasn't long before she was hurrying off towards the clubhouse to grab some ice.

"What the hell was that?" Tig asked her, eyes moving from her breathless smile to the streaks of blood on her glossy skin.

"What do you mean?"

"You let him hit you?" Jax asked with a curious frown.

"Psychs me up," she replied with a shrug, "Gets the adrenalin flowing. And it used to win me a lot of money back in the corps. You have everyone betting against you if you take some hits in the first couple of minutes, then next thing they know, you come out swinging for the win."

Jax smirked as Tig shook his head; it was always dirty logic with her.

"Speaking of," Clay said, looking to Tig who was more familiar with the illegal fighting circle, "How much money gets thrown around at these bare-knuckle things of yours?"

"The purse is okay," he replied, "But it's the betting that's gone crazy lately. I know a couple of guys last year, made six figures each."

"Really?" Clay rubbed at his salt-and-pepper stubble as he considered this possible solution to their IRA problem.

"The prospect could knock those lightweights out any day of the week," Chibs added confidently, as he rejoined them.

"Just not this one," Bobby chuckled, nodding towards Alice. She was staring over at Half-Sack with a thoughtful expression. "We use your method, could make ourselves a lotta green. Assuming the kid can take it."

Alice just shook her head, noticing Tig do the same at the suggestion. They exchanged a glance.

"Sometimes you make more money taking a dive," she said. "I used to go in weak because it's what the men expected. Nobody bets on the woman. Kid like that? Have him go in strong first few rounds, then you bet against him the last minute. No one expects the champ to take a fall."

"And you wonder what I see in her," Tig grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer as he looked over at his president, making her chuckle. Clay threw him an incredulous look, but gave the recommendation some genuine thought. It was a good plan, he just didn't like the source.

"I dunno."

Sensing his step-father's prejudice, Jax added, "It might be our only way of raising that eighty grand." He gave Clay a knowing look and finally the man sighed.

"Alright. I'm in."

"I'm in," the others all agreed.

"Done. Take fifty grand. I want to see it tripled." He turned to Chibs. "You're going to train him. That means no booze, no weed, no pussy."

"That include the Nevada sweetbutt?" Bobby asked.

"Until I'm up a hundred k, that little Cherry tart can cool on the counter."

Alice glanced over at the clubhouse as the sweetbutt in question reemerged with two little bags of ice. The girl met her gaze as she approached and offered a strained smile. She couldn't tell if that was fear in the girl's eyes, or respect. Closer up, she noticed the strip of bandage across the girl's nose and the bruising beneath it – recently broken. She could only hope for the poor girl's sake that she hadn't received it from one of the other men. Half-Sack certainly wasn't the kind to beat on a woman, regardless on his most recent display.

"Here, I thought you might need it."

Alice could only smile back. They had the girls trained well in the clubhouses – pure hospitality, even this far from home.

"Thanks. Frankie."

"Cherry," she replied, her smile becoming a little more genuine. "You someone's Old Lady?"

Alice shook her head. "Nah, I'm just the punching bag."

"Don't tell her that!" Tig said, dropping his arm form around her and throwing her a disapproving look. "Jesus Christ."

Alice chuckled and he snatched the ice from her, pressing it the largest of her forming bruises, still holding her gaze. She just grinned and started taking off her wraps. The parallel between this moment and one of their first real interactions together did not escape her. She smiled to herself, then looked back over at Cherry.

"Sorry about your boy," she told her, glancing over at the still mildly-confused expression on the beaten kid's face.

"It's okay. He'll heal. You fight pretty good. Where'd you learn?"

"I served, same as Sack."

"Marines?"

"Yeah."

"Rad."

Alice chuckled. She noticed the girl's eyes dance quickly over her scar, before that MC-drilled tact seemed to get the better of her.

"You sticking around or just visiting?"

Cherry gave her an uncertain look, but didn't reply. Underneath the bruises, she was a pretty little thing, and obviously knew her place. She wondered why she hadn't been snatched up by one of the men back in Indian Hills. Then again, considering the track records of most of the men of SAMCRO, she wondered if any of them ever really settled down; if the sweetbutts who hung around hoping to be noticed even had a chance to get their wish.

"That's yet to be determined," Clay said from behind them, where he'd been listening in, and Alice realized why the girl was being so quiet. She glanced from Cherry's bandage to the club president and drew her own conclusions. Cherry was quick to disappear back to her man's side after that, pressing the ice to his bruised cheek, glancing back over at the Clay with just a hint of contempt. If she really wanted to stick around, she knew that she'd have to stay in the president's good books, even if that was proving rather difficult since her arrival.

"So Sack's got a girlfriend, huh?" Alice said.

"Kinda," Tig replied, "Sweetbutt from Indian Hills. Came down to find him after the patch over." He caught the look she threw him. "She wasn't one of mine," he assured her.

"Good to know. Tiny thing like that, you might have broken her in half."

He chuckled.

They watched the two cutesying up to one another and Alice couldn't help the gentle smile that came over her. It was nice to see the kid so happy. Cherry seemed like a good girl, and Half-Sack deserved someone like that. He reminded her of Juice in a lot of ways; not the brightest star in the sky, but with that hint of innocence that made you want to look out for them.

"Ah, shit. Juicy's probably wondering what the hell's keeping me," she said, remembering the reason she was there to begin with.

"Yeah, well, he's gonna wanna know when he sees the state you're in," Tig replied as he eyed the red areas on her cheeks that were sure to bruise. He moved the ice to the next patch.

"I'll just tell him you did it," she teased, waiting for his reaction.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he replied as she began to laugh, "That ain't even funny. You're so twisted." But he couldn't hide his own smile. He gazed at her a moment. "You gonna come watch Sack fight?"

She took the ice from him as she thought it over.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see what my schedule looks like. This thing Juice's helping me with pays off, I might even make a few bets of my own."

"You ain't gonna fight, are you?" He wasn't sure if he could stand watching someone lay into her like that again. Watching Half-Sack had triggered every male instinct in him to get up and protect what was his, the only thing stopping him from doing so the sudden realization that he was getting territorial, and the confusion that followed with that.

She shook her head as she picked up her jacket from next to him. "I told you, I don't do it for money."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that from women before."

She threw him a sarcastic look as she stepped back in the direction of the clubhouse and he grinned.

As predicted, the second Juice saw her, he was on his feet, ready to throw a beat down on whichever asshole had decided to lay into his friend.

"What the hell happened to you?"

* * *

The fight didn't go quite as planned. It was the final round, they'd finally let the kid in on their little scheme and though his fighter's instinct had him second-guessing every move he made, he had still agreed to take the fall for his club. Then he had seen Clay getting handsy with his girl. His mind flashed back to the Indian Hills clubhouse. What he didn't know was that Clay had just given her permission to stick around to be with the prospect, and she was simply thanking him with an innocent hug; but sparked by a random bout of anger upon witnessing this, he had taken his opponent down easily, losing the club thirty-five grand in the process. From her seat next to Cherry, Alice could only laugh. The ex-sweetbutt hadn't been in on it, and the look on her face as her man won his fifth consecutive fight was one of pure, supportive joy. Alice didn't want to ruin that for her.

As they met up out in the parking lot afterwards, Tig threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in towards him as Clay turned to give the younger reunited couple a stern look.

"Look, man, I'm really sorry, you know, I just lost it…" Half-Sack began, but the others just shook their heads.

"You owe the club thirty-five k," Chibs told him. He looked around at the men, expression skeptical.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Clay told him, "But at least you got the girl, right?"

Disgusted by the night's turn of events, Tig looked at the two young lovebirds. "Come on, get out of here before I rape both of you."

"Whoa!" Alice shrugged his arm off and cringed.

"Dude," Bobby frowned.

Tig looked to Clay who just shook his head.

"What? It's a term of endearment," he told them.

"You ever use that line on me, the boys'll be calling you 'No-Sack'," Alice told him, hearing Bobby chuckle behind her. Tig caught her in a half-hug again and gave her a squeeze.

"What are you talkin' about? You love it."

* * *

"There you go."

Juice looked down at the envelope Alice tossed down on the bar in front of him. He hadn't even heard her come in.

"What's this?"

"Your cut for that job you helped me out with."

He thumbed through the cash inside and frowned at her.

"Are you kidding me? There's like five hundred bucks in here. I can't take that."

"Considering the amount my client paid me for that bit of info, I'm practically ripping you off."

"Seriously?" He had never asked her what kind of money her line of work brought in, feeling it was really none of his business; but he had never known her to go without. He could only imagine what her bank account looked like – if she even had one. It seemed more likely that she had it all stashed in a safe somewhere, or hidden in overseas accounts.

She had wanted to at least give him something for his help, but knew he wouldn't accept it if it was too large an amount. After a little deliberation, she had settled on the five hundred - enough to not feel stingy considering her own payout, but not too much to turn him away. She knew the Sons were used to handling large amounts of money, anyway. Surely five hundred was pocket change to them.

She nodded. "Ten percent. Finder's fee."

"You made five grand off that guy?" he exclaimed, the reaction a little more than she was expecting.

"Well, don't yell it from the rooftops, you big nerd. I don't want people to start hitting me up for loans."

As the words left her mouth, she noticed a look come over him.

"How much do you need?" she asked, rolling her eyes as she hopped up onto one of the stools.

"It's not for me, it's for the club," he explained, "The Irish are breathing down our necks to pay off our tab. We were hoping Half-Sack was gonna make it up for us…"

"How short are you?"

"Last I heard, fifteen grand."

"Fifteen grand? I can get you that," she said. He just stared at her. She had overheard about their money troubles while gearing up for her fight with the prospect, but had been hesitant to offer her help. Mainly because it was eighty grand at the time, and eighty grand from someone who was still practically a stranger was a whole other kettle of fish compared to fifteen. At least the smaller amount wouldn't raise as many questions about her comfortable financial situation, and Clay might see it more as a small favor than as her coming to their rescue, which she just knew would have him declining the offer in a heartbeat.

"How?" Juice asked, expression a mixture of skeptical and intrigued.

"Torture business treatin' you that good?" Chibs added from over on the couch, where he was nursing a beer. Alice turned with a smile.

"Yeah, literally making a killing," she grinned at the older man, chuckling when he rolled his eyes at the pun. "You think I take petty cash for that shit? I can float the club a loan, if you need it."

"Seriously?" Juice asked, staring at his friend, an incredulous tone to his voice, "You've just got a spare 15k lying around that you could throw our way?"

"Yeah," she told him, throwing him a look for making her repeat herself. "I mean, it's not like I keep it on hand or anything, but a girl's gotta have her rainy day fund."

"You'd really do that?" Chibs asked thoughtfully, getting up to join them, leaning against the counter a couple of seats down from her. "What, out o' the goodness of yer heart?" Despite his continued insistence that he keep her at arm's length, this latest confession had captured his interest, and when you were dealing with a bunch of Irish soldiers renowned for their violent methods of collecting their debts, you didn't wait around hoping they'd show their altruistic side. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was only helping them for some gain of her own. It seemed too convenient.

"What's your vig?" Juice asked her, eyes slightly narrowed as if he shared some of Chibs's sentiment.

"My 'vig'?" she scoffed. "I dunno, what's the going rate for IRA loans?"

Chibs chuckled and she glanced over, catching him in the act. He quickly straightened his face and continued sipping his beer. Alice smirked.

"Well figure it out later," she told him, "Are you sure Clay's even going to go for this?"

"He's not exactly a man who likes owing people favors," Chibs said agreed, exchanging a look with the younger biker.

Juice nodded. "I'll run it by Jax first."

They found the vice president in his dorm, clutching the same folder she had seen him with on the rooftop. It hadn't seemed like anything to her at first, but catching the fading look of deep contemplation on his face, she found herself wondering what the folder held inside that was so important to him.

Jax was all for it, as she had predicted. Unlike his step-father and the Scotsman, he didn't see any reason to be suspicious of her motives. To him it made sense that in her line of work she would have that amount of money to spare, and now wasn't the time to be turning it down out of pride. He knew they would owe her for the consistent help at least some point down the track, but that's what business was – give and take. Her relationship with Tig threw him off a little, though – he had always had trouble keeping on the same page as his Sergeant-at-Arms, who liked to opt for brute force over a well-executed plan; it seemed almost fitting that the man should be interested in a woman who engaged in both in equal measures. He knew he would have to run her offer by Clay first, unless he simply didn't tell the man where the money had come from to begin with. With the mood Clay had been in lately, the latter seemed the more feasible option.

"I can get it for you by tonight," she told him.

"That works," he smiled. "You sure about this?"

She smiled back. "Happy to help."


	10. Chapter 10: Jax (ii)

_Yay! We're now in double digits. Let's hope we make it to triple, because at the rate I'm going, I can totally see that happening. I've taken a few liberties with the events of this chapter – kind of stole Tara's spotlight a little (you'll see what I mean) – but I can honestly say I had a lot of fun writing it. Quick shout out to_ _ **sillygabby**_ _for her offer to help me out on some of the stuff I get stuck with – much appreciated, as are your reviews. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks again for reading!_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **JAX (ii)**

"Engine troubles?"

Alice stared at the ambulance parked in the garage, her 15k offering clutched in the bag in her hand.

"IQ troubles," Tig replied, jerking his thumb towards Half-Sack, who leaned back sheepishly against the vehicle.

He hadn't received the memo about Frankie's little contribution to their gun fund, opting to 'think outside the box', boosting the unattended vehicle during a towing job. Before Juice could mention anything about his friend's offer, the prospect had taken off across the street, leaving his patched accomplice to make a decision: either go after him and stop him from making a stupid mistake, or allow him to go ahead with the idiotic scheme, if only to give the club comedic ammunition to use against someone else for once. He chose the latter.

"Hey, maybe you can take it off our hands," Tig suggested.

"What the hell do I want with an ambulance?"

"I dunno, in case you have to go undercover during one o' your jobs or something."

She eyed him with a cocked eyebrow, catching a slightly different scenario unfolding behind his eyes.

"You know that nurses don't actually dress like that, right?"

The others chuckled.

She tossed him the bag, which he passed on to Clay. The club president took a quick look inside, then gave her a nod.

"We'll have it back to you as soon as we can," Tig assured her, but she didn't look too worried. There was no real hurry.

The men went their separate ways as they stepped outside, with Clay, Jax and Tig heading out towards their bikes and the others moving off towards the clubhouse. Alice followed the former group, falling in beside the Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Meeting's tonight?"

"Yeah, doll."

She nodded and he glanced over at her. She smiled.

"You look after yourself, alright."

Caught by the sentiment – the rare moment of what felt like genuine feeling from her – he stopped to pull her into a kiss, ignoring the looks he knew they were getting from the two club leaders. Alice wrapped her arms around his neck and he felt her smile against his lips. He had forgotten this feeling – what it was like to have a woman waiting for him, worrying about him. He had to admit he kind of missed it.

Gemma pulled up beside the group in her car as they parted, eyeing the enamored pair with a dubious expression. She turned to Jax.

"Hey, I've been calling you on the cell," she told him, with the light tone of a scolding mother, "They're taking Abel out of the incubation chamber."

Realizing what was going on, Alice clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, congrats, man!"

He smiled back at her. "Thanks."

Gemma threw her a look behind her back, but her son was quick to catch it, his expression in return asking her to go easy. He wasn't quite sure what it was about Frankie that his mother didn't like, considering she didn't know a whole lot about what the woman did for a living. Maybe it was simply having another woman on the scene helping to look out for them. Maybe she was just testing the girl's mettle. Or maybe she resented Frankie for being able to help them out with problems they just couldn't bring to her; dangerous club business, stuff like that. He knew Clay told her a lot more than what any other member would ever divulge to their Old Lady; that a lot of the time she landed knee deep in some of their shit without their intention – yet she could never be involved at the level she wanted to be; helping to make the decisions for the good of the club. At the end of the day, she was Clay's Old Lady and knew she had to remember her place. Yet here was this new woman, hands all over her Tigger, always showing up and hanging around like she was one of them. She didn't like it one bit. If only she knew how many holes Frankie had dug them all out of.

Jax moved off towards his bike, preparing to follow his mother out to the hospital, while Clay stepped forward for a private moment with his wife. Sensing their need for space, Alice hung back and watched Tig mount his own ride.

"You workin' tonight?" he asked her as he did up his helmet.

"Yeah," she smiled, "Why? Were you thinking of dropping by afterwards?"

"Yeah, thought I'd give you a tip for your contribution."

"Look, I'll tell you what I told the last guy. I don't take dick as payment."

He chuckled at her and she smiled.

"Alright, be safe, yeah?" she told him, stepping back as Clay got on the bike next to his.

"Yeah, yeah. No worries, Mom."

"Hey, what did I say about pet names?"

Tig laughed again and she watched them peel out of the lot and into the night, hesitating before she moved back towards her own awaiting vehicle. She knew she had a job waiting for her, but she was having one of her good days; what she liked to think of as the lull between the wave of mania and the crash of depression. She always felt like being in good company when she was in this rare mood, and with Tig out on the road, that left her with Juice in the clubhouse. Still, she had a job to do. She didn't have time for feel-good frivolities.

* * *

The meet-up with their Irish contact quickly went south. It seemed they had underestimated how low their Mayan friends would stoop in their new alliance with the Nords. As Clay and Tig sat inside the designated Irish bar with their latest True IRA business associate – a man by the name of Cameron Hayes – two Mayans stepped through the doors looking to crash the party. Thanks to Tig's fast thinking, he and Clay walked away unscathed; however the same could not be said for their contact. He was in a bad way when they called Jax and told him to bring the others down.

The ambulance, as it turned out, came in handy transporting the injured Irishman back to their clubhouse against the better judgement of the Sons, who could see that he was in dire need of a hospital. It was at Cameron's request – as a man wanted in multiple countries for acts of violence and terrorism – that he not be left at the mercy of legitimate medical staff. So instead they called in the Scotsman. One look at the positioning of one of the bullet-holes was all it took for Chibs to know that this one was out of his hands.

"This one's beyond me, Jackie boy," he said, when they had pulled back into the seclusion of the garage. "We're goin' to need surgical equipment to yank those slugs out and patch 'im up."

"Like what?" Tig asked, standing by the doorway.

"Scalpels, clamps, sutures, needles. All that kind o' shit."

"And who do we know with medical experience and their own vast collection of surgical equipment?" Jax asked, smiling as he threw a look to Tig.

Chibs looked to his VP, eyes pleading that he not call her in, knowing, yet again, that she was the only one who could get them out of this.

Jax looked to Tig again.

"Get her on the phone."

Tig popped her on speakerphone the moment she answered, so Chibs could relay the medical situation to her.

"Alright, lass. We got us a bloody problem here, quite literally. Could use your assistance."

" _I thought you'd never ask, Chibby boy_ ," she replied, her tone only slightly teasing, " _What do you need_?"

"Look, we know you're busy," Jax added, "But we could really use you at the club house."

" _Yeah, sure. I mean, it's not like you already owe me or anything_ ," she joked good-naturedly. Jax smirked. " _You might as well have me on speed dial at this point. Hang on_."

There was a brief pause, what they could have sworn sounded like a fist slamming into someone's face, then she came back on the line sounding ever-so-slightly winded from the exertion.

" _Yeah, no problem_."

The boys grinned at each other.

"We're going to need some tools," Chibs went on.

" _Uh-huh. Like what?_ "

"Scalpels?"

"Please, I'm pretty sure she keeps a scalpel in her handbag at all times. Right next to her tampons," Tig joked.

" _Got it. What else?_ "

"Clamps."

"The surgical kind, not the nipple kind," Tig told her.

" _Thanks for clearing that up. That would have been a really awkward mistake_ ," she replied dryly. Listening in from beside the wounded Irishman, Juice chuckled.

"Gauze, and plenty of it. Guy's got a bullet hole in his leg. May have hit an artery."

" _Alright. I'll grab whatever else I think we'll need and I'll meet you there in twenty_."

"Can't get here any faster on that beast o' yours?"

" _Sorry, Scot. Don't need to give Hale an excuse to pull me over, now do I?_ "

She made a fair point, even if she was pretty sure she could sweet talk her way out of trouble with the young officer.

* * *

She arrived fifteen minutes later, slinking through the clubhouse doors with a pack of medical supplies and a calm demeanor. Juice met her by the bar. They had already transported Hayes into the Chapel, laying down a plastic sheet to protect the carved, redwood table and its wooden reaper that had been witness to so many club decisions over the past decades.

"Where's he at?" she asked her friend.

"Chapel." He stood awkwardly by the bar and she just stared, waiting.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go Nurse Ortiz."

"What?"

"You're going to help me."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

She tossed him the pack.

She caught Tig leaving the room as they approached and hung back, searching his face to make sure he was okay. They hadn't exactly told her what had gone down, but it didn't take a genius to make a guess; either the meeting had gone sour, or some unexpected guests had shown up.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm as she stopped beside him. He was in a bit of a trance.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm good, doll," he assured her, eyes coming back into focus as he looked up at her. He wasn't very convincing. Must have been a close call. "You need any help?" he asked her.

"I got Nurse Juicy scrubbin' up," she joked, happy to draw a small smile out of him. "Go get a drink or something. I've got this."

He gazed at her a moment, eyes searching hers as if he were trying to figure something out. "You're too good to me, you know that."

"I know."

She smirked and accepted a quick kiss, then stepped into the Chapel, avoiding the way Juice was looking at her after witnessing the entire exchange.

"Alright, what have we got?" she asked Chibs.

"One Irishman with a fucked up arse," he replied. They had managed to cut open the man's jeans along the back of his thigh and the Scotsman was in the process of splashing alcohol over the bullet wounds to clear away some of the blood and clean them out.

"Who's this?" Cameron asked, glancing over his shoulder at her, his skin pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Your new doctor," Chibs informed him.

"Aye, and what training have you had?" he asked, as if he had asked the same question of Chibs. She almost laughed at the idea of him turning her away for lack of credentials.

"Ten years as a medic in the US Marines," she replied as she slipped on a pair of latex gloves. "Most of it putting people back together."

Hayes stared at her a moment then looked to Chibs. "Interesting company you lot keep."

"Trust me, you don't know the half of it."

"Juice," she ordered, holding out a pair of gloves to him. "Today you're gonna learn, kid," she grinned. He didn't seem quite as eager. He glanced down at the man's bleeding wounds, hesitated, and then accepted the gloves. "Pass me the clamps, will you?"

He opened her bag of supplies, impressed by the collection she kept, and dug out the requested item.

"Have you tried finding the bullets yet?" she asked Chibs.

"With what? Me fingers?"

She shrugged. "You were a medic on the field, right?"

He glared at her and threw Juice a look.

"Any exit wounds?"

"One."

"Well, that's some good news," she told the man beneath her.

"Is it?" he asked, not sounding at all like he agreed, voice strained against the pain. Juice opened the bottle of whiskey they had on hand and went to pass it to him, but Frankie caught him by the arm. He and the Scotsman threw her a questioning look.

"Thins the blood," she told them. "Do you want him to bleed out?"

Juice set the bottle back down, but not before Chibs reached out at grabbed it, taking a swig himself.

"Pass it here," Hayes told him.

"Doc says no."

"She what?" He looked back over his shoulder.

"Look, I know it's probably hard for you to hear that, but-"

"She makin' a racist joke?"

Frankie glanced at Chibs, mouth open to protest, then bit back her retort. The last thing they needed was to offend their already-wounded IRA soldier. Who knew what kind of hell that could bring down on them or their business deal.

"No," she defended, looking at Juice and giving an amused-but-apologetic shrug in response to the unimpressed look he threw her, "I meant because of the amount of pain you must be in." Juice just shook his head at her. "Now, I'm going to apologize in advance for this, because it's going to hurt like a bitch, and I didn't have any painkillers on hand."

"Aye, you wouldn't, would ya?" Chibs commented. It was Frankie's turn to throw him a look, but there was a smile beneath, sarcastic though it might have been.

She looked down at the positioning of the bullet holes to see what she was working with, not liking the look of the top one. Though it wasn't bleeding much at that moment, Chibs was right; it looked as if it were sitting right on top of an artery. The bullet was probably the only thing plugging the flow. She went to work on the hole under it first, finding the bullet easily – it wasn't lodged too deep inside. Yanking it out, Hayes cried out in pain.

"You know, a bit of music might be good right about now," Frankie suggested, bullet clutched between the clamps as she looked over at the two bikers.

"No," was their resounding response, all too familiar with what happened when her work came together with a soundtrack.

"Actually," they heard Hayes mutter weakly beneath her, "Bit o' music'd be nice."

Frankie grinned.

"Can't promise any _U2_ ," she joked. "I got wireless speakers in the bag," she told Juice, and he went back over to dig around for them, "iPod should be in the front pocket. Just click the next song. Playlist is lined up."

"Playlist?" he asked, glancing down at the small black device in his hands. He spotted the name of it and threw her an incredulous look.

"Unrelated," she assured him, but he didn't seem convinced. He sat the speakers down and set the system up, stepping back as he pressed the play button, not taking any notice of the track.

Cyndi Lauper's _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ filled the room, loud enough to guarantee it would be heard outside. Groans sounded from each of the men.

"Please turn it off," Hayes begged, voice strained.

"I don't even want to know," Juice told her as she shook with laughter. He shook his head. As he moved to change the song, Tig opened the door looking like his night had just been made.

"You girls having fun in here?" he asked, grinning. Chibs and Juice each threw him a look, but it only made Frankie laugh harder as she patched up the first two bullet holes. Juice pressed the skip button and Queen's _Don't Stop Me Now_ came on, an apparently more acceptable choice if the lack of complaints were anything to go by.

"How we going in here, anyways?" Tig asked, stepping towards her, craning his neck for a look over her shoulder. He watched her as she worked the suture through the Irishman's skin, impressed by her steady hands.

"Two outta three ain't bad," replied their doc, throwing him a smile over her shoulder. Tig glanced over at Chibs, who had since taken a seat to watch her work, and the man just shrugged, arms folded. She wasn't doing too badly. "It's this last one that's got me concerned." She attempted to flick her hair out of her face, but it spilled back down again, restricting her view. Tig reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, eyes never leaving the sutures. Juice watched the two then glanced at Chibs, who had caught his expression. He quickly looked away, embarrassed to have his obvious bitterness witnessed by a fellow brother.

"What's the problem?" Tig asked her.

"That's what we're gonna find out."

Setting the first bullet down on table, she allowed Hayes a little breather before sticking the clamps into the third and final hole. She dug around a little, her expression full of concentration as she waited to strike the solid metal of the slug. Nothing.

"What's the matter?" Chibs asked her.

"Can't find the little fucker," she replied, changing her angle. She dug a little deeper, drawing a pained grunt from the Irishman with each movement. He finally bit down on his fingers, fighting to remain conscious against the overwhelming pain. Suddenly, her expression lit up. She ushered Juice over just in case, and was glad she did. The second she dragged the bullet out, blood began to spurt out like a great, red fountain. Hayes screamed bloody murder.

"Sorry for the high school flashbacks, Juicy," Frankie said, quickly grabbing his hand, "But I'm really going to need you to stick your fingers in there."

He threw her disgusted look – it seemed the bloodier and more chaotic the situation, the more inappropriate her humor became – then proceeded to gag as he felt his fingers engulfed by the wet, warmth of the Irishman's ass. Tig was busy laughing at her comment, not to mention the predicament Juice now found himself in, and it was then that Jax, Gemma and Clay burst in, concerned by the screams and thinking the worst.

"Oh my god," Gemma cringed. She glanced up from Juice's occupied hand to meet his gaze and he gave a sheepish shrug, still fighting to not throw up. Jax could only frown at what he was seeing.

"What the hell's going on in here?" Clay demanded, the music playing over the background – now Queen's _I Want to Break Free_ – only adding to bizarreness of the scene in front of him. He looked over at Chibs. The Scotsman cocked an eyebrow.

"I think she's actually got it under control," he admitted, and when Clay turned to his Sergeant, Tig just nodded his assent, a smile still on his lips.

"Jesus Christ," the club presidents muttered in unison. Clay exchanged a look with his wife and the pair were quick to exit the room, glad to leave the bloody scene behind them.

"Alright, hold it there," Frankie ordered her makeshift-nurse, whose cringe only deepened. Curious about her actual medical abilities, Jax stepped closer, watching her carefully, brow still creased.

"Really?" Juice asked, sounding as if he'd rather be doing anything but that.

They watched as she took some gauze from her kit and took up her position by the patient's side once more.

"Okay, on three, pull out," she told him, and as he looked up to meet her gaze, he could see the humor dancing behind her eyes once more. He couldn't believe she could find anything funny about this situation. "Alright. One. Two. Three."

He pulled his hand away, releasing the pressure on the dark red stream, sending it squirting out once more. The guys all took an unconscious step back, but craned their necks to watch as she jammed the gauze into the wound with the clamps, pushing it until it was all the way in. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, managing to leave a streak of blood across her skin, then reached down to pick up another suture, keeping the wound clamped shut with her other hand.

"Holy shit!" Juice exclaimed, sounding genuinely impressed despite his pale complexion and the nausea that had settled in his stomach. The blood had completely stopped.

Tig grinned, taking hold of her shoulders. "Beautiful work." He let go as she got to work on sewing up the last hole. Even Chibs looked a little impressed, not bothering to hide his own little smile.

"How we doing over there, Paddy?" she asked her patient, but there was no reply. Slightly concerned, she stepped back to look over at his face, seeing it pressed flat against the table. "He out?" she asked Juice, who confirmed this with a nod after a quick check of his own.

"I think he went out right after you yanked the slug," Chibs told her, and the nod he gave her then was not only his own confirmation, but one of slight respect. She smiled to herself as she finished up.

"He's gonna need meds," she said, glancing around, unsure where they would go about getting these. "Antibiotics for sure, maybe some painkillers. He could still develop sepsis after all that, even if I do keep my tools sterilized."

"What for?" Tig asked, wondering if it wouldn't add to her victims' suffering if they were clotted with the bits of her previous work. She frowned at him as though offended.

"Because I'm a fucking professional," she replied, and he cocked an eyebrow. Couldn't argue there, even if her method was more 'back-alley butcher' than 'certified surgeon'.

Chibs looked over at Jax, who seemed to be already thinking along the same lines. "Do you think yer doctor lady can get them meds for us?" he asked. Jax nodded.

"I'll go ask," he replied, "Shouldn't be a problem."

With that he left the room, leaving the others to clean up.

"Can I go wash my hands and stuff now?" Juice asked, grimacing down at the mess on his skin and clothes.

"Yeah, sure," Frankie smiled, her voice softening when she noticed the state he was in. "Come here a sec, though."

He stepped over, expression uncertain, as if he thought she was about make him stick his fingers somewhere else. Instead, she leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, holding her hands away from him to avoid any cross-contamination. His expression brightened dramatically, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he smiled.

"You did good, Juicy."

He was still smiling as he left the room.

"Aw, that was touching," Tig teased, with a hard glint in his eye. He moved towards the Irishman's head and looked down into his face, as if expecting him to wake up at any moment.

"Other charters on their way?" Chibs asked him.

"Yeah. Should be here by the afternoon."

Frankie checked her watch. It had only been about an hour, but it felt like so much longer. She was exhausted, and she still had her other job to get back to.

"You good?" Tig asked her, noticing her tired expression, glancing up at the streak of blood across her forehead.

She sighed. "Yeah. I might go take a shower. Wake myself up a little bit."

"I can probably help with that."

She chuckled and glanced over at Chibs, who still had his arms folded as he sat waiting for the Irishman to regain consciousness. He gave a very subtle shake of his head, but remained silent about their open flirting.

"Alright." She placed her implements down and sighed, stripping off the bloody gloves and tossing them into the trash. "You right to watch him?" she asked the Scot.

"Yeah, lass. Thanks for the help."

Knowing that this was likely as much recognition as she was going to receive from the man for now, she smiled to herself and stepped outside as Tig held the door open for her.

"How is he?" Clay asked from over by the bar. Gemma looked over from behind it, her expression difficult to read. She seemed caught between her usual distaste for the woman, and gratitude for her help.

"It might be the first time anyone's ever said this, but the Irishman's stable. He's out at the moment, but he should be fine. Jax is tracking down some meds for him. Someone should probably keep an eye on him while he heals, too. Sepsis can be sneaky like that."

Clay and Gemma exchanged looks.

"We could keep him up at the cabin," he suggested, and she nodded.

"Maybe Piney can stay with him. Place'll look like a goddamn hospice."

Clay chuckled at that as he set down his drink.

"Thanks for your help," he told Frankie, and even Gemma managed a nod. "I'll be sure to add a little extra to what we owe you, for your services."

Frankie smiled and gave a quick nod of her approval before moving off towards the dorms with Tig close behind. Clay shot his Sergeant a look and the man just shrugged, adding in a wolfish grin that made Gemma roll her eyes.

Alice turned back to look at him, her expression thoughtful.

"So when Chibs was saying all charters," she began. He glanced at her looking unimpressed, already knowing where she was going with that.

"Don't even go there, babe," he warned her, and she laughed.

* * *

She was lying naked on the bed, spread out and enjoying the stretch in her tired muscles as she waited for Tig to return from the bathroom. Their little romp in the shower hadn't done much in the way of waking her up; the warmth of the water and sweet ache between her legs only tiring her more. The relative comfort of the bed beneath her wasn't helping either, and just as she closed her eyes and began to doze, allowing herself to forget for a moment the man still tied helplessly to her chair, her burner began to vibrate. Groaning, she rolled to her stomach and reached over to grab it.

JAX.

She wondered if he'd had problems getting the meds. If that was the case, she knew she could probably pull a few strings. The guy who supplied her Etorphine, the drug she used to knock out her victims, probably had access the kinds of stuff they needed.

"Hey," she answered.

" _Hey_." She knew immediately that something was wrong. His voice was hushed and without its usual playful tone. " _You done with the Irishman?_ "

"Uh, yeah. He's still unconscious. Chibs is watching over him. What's up?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and she could feel him debating whether or not to even tell her – there was still time to hang up, pretend he had never even dialed.

" _You might be right about that speed dial thing_ ," he joked, though his voice was still without humor. " _I got a job for you. I'll text you the address. But I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anyone where you're going. Don't let them know that I called_."

She frowned, but nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there as soon as I can." She glanced up as the bathroom door opened, smiling as Tig stepped out naked. He threw her a questioning look as he glanced at the phone and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring shake of the head. Nothing to worry about.

" _Also, you might want to bring your car for this one."_

"On it. I'll be there soon. Bye."

Tig took a seat on the bed beside her, fingers playing with her hair as his eyes moved over her body.

"'Nother job," she told him as she hung up.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

He looked so disappointed by that, and she couldn't help but chuckle, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"I thought we already pulled you away from one."

"Such is the life of the gun-for-hire," she told him, gazing at him a moment before planting a kiss on his lips. She made to turn away to begin collecting her clothes, but he caught her by the hand and dragged her back for a much deeper kiss, as if trying to convince her to stay. Feeling that familiar throb start up between her legs once more, she knew she was in trouble.

"Just stay a little while longer," he suggested, running his fingers down between her breasts, down over her sensitive scar, sneaking down between her lips. He began stroking her softly, smirking at the way her cheeks flushed before he slipped a finger inside her. She buckled a little against him, groaning as she let her head fall forward to press against him chest. She felt his chest rumble with dark laughter.

"Oh, fuck. No." She regained her composure, remembering Jax was in trouble, and pushed herself back away from him. He stared at her with his shit-eating grin and she watched as he sucked his finger clean, tensing her jaw to keep another moan from slipping out. "You're gonna fucking get it," she warned him.

"It's what I'm hoping, sweetheart," he countered.

She stared at him for a moment, body battling logic as she debated staying once again, then shook herself out of it.

"No, I have to go," she told herself, earning another chuckle from him. He collapsed back onto the bed, hands resting behind his head as he watched her get dressed.

"It's probably going to get real busy around here, later on. All the other charters coming down."

"That to do with the attack tonight?"

He nodded.

"Mayans?"

"Yeah."

"Should I be worried?"

He glanced up from her bare ass to meet her gaze as she slipped her t-shirt over her head. He thought it over for a moment. If anyone had anything to worry about it was Clay. The hit had obviously been intended for the president – cutting the head off the snake, so to speak – but as Clay's right-hand man, it also put him directly in the firing line. When it came right down to it, he was basically the man's human shield.

"Nah, doll," he lied, seeing the worry creep into her eyes after his long pause. He knew she was smarter than to believe him, but she didn't argue, instead going back getting dressed. "Come by tonight," he offered

"Another party?" she guessed.

"Bigger than last time, that's for sure."

"Nice."

He smiled at her enthusiasm. She approached him by the side of the bed, now fully clothed, and leaned down over him, her hair spilling down to tickle his cheek. He ran his fingers through it and fought the urge to pull her on top of him. She gently smacked his hand away as they kissed, knowing exactly what he was thinking, and felt him chuckle against her lips.

"I'll see you soon," she promised, and just like that she was gone, leaving a quiet emptiness in her place.

* * *

The house was average-looking, set on a stretch of middle-class suburban street. The area wasn't as nice as the one she lived in, but she had never been one to judge. A comfortable home was always more welcoming than an expensive one. Jax met her by the front door, closing it behind him as he ran a hand back through his hair, looking stressed.

"Thanks for comin' so fast," he told her.

"What have we got?"

"Look, before we go in, there are a few things I need to explain," he said. She paused, listening carefully. "This house belongs to an old girlfriend of mine. Tara. She's inside right now freaking out."

Frankie frowned but didn't interrupt.

"You remember that ATF agent you told us about? Kohn?"

She nodded and Jax stared at her a moment. Her eyes went wide as she put two-and-two together. He was glad for that.

"Oh shit. So she's the one who took out the restraining order."

"Yeah. He's been here for her all along. She met the guy in Chicago when she was working there. Abusive piece of shit wouldn't leave her alone when she tried to call things off." The amount of venom in Jax's voice as he said this give Frankie a clear impression of how he still felt about the woman in question. She wondered then what scene awaited her behind that door.

"He was here tonight," he went on, watching as her brows pulled together, "He tried to force himself on her. She shot him." He paused, expecting a reaction, but Frankie gazed at him calmly, waiting for him to finish. "He was still alive when I got here."

He didn't need to say anymore. She could tell from the angry, nervous energy about him, the way his jaw continued to tense even as he finished talking, that he had taken things into his own hands.

"I take it I'm just here for the clean-up?"

He nodded.

"Look, I'm sorry to keep dragging you into this shit. We already pulled you away from your business tonight. You don't owe us any favors."

She just smiled and shook her head. "I'm capable of saying 'no', Jax. I'm-"

"Happy to help?" he finished for her, and they exchanged smiles.

"Alright, you lead the way." She gestured towards the door and he held it open for her. An attractive young woman, around the same age as her and Jax, was seated on one of the couches in the living room, her expression worried and distant. She looked up startled when she heard the door close. Seeing a new face, she looked to Jax for an explanation.

"This is Frankie," he told her, "She's a friend of the club. Helped us out with a lotta shit." This didn't seem to calm her in any way; if anything, the sudden glint of tears in her eyes had Jax moving to her side. He crouched down in front of her, taking her gently by the shoulder as he looked at her. "Look, she's here to help. I trust her." He looked over at her pointedly, a silent exchange of gratitude, then turned back to Tara.

"You don't have to hang around," Frankie assured them, knowing in these situations it was often better for the victims to give themselves some space from the place of the incident. She hadn't had to deal with the fallout of many situations before – emotional comfort wasn't exactly part of her repertoire – but she'd had enough experience to know the right thing to say. Tara didn't exactly look comfortable with the idea of leaving her place in the hands of a stranger, but Jax was already nodding.

"I'll show you were he is," he said, getting to his feet. He led her down a hallway towards the main bedroom at the end, pushing the half-open door wide. Frankie glanced down at the dead man on the bathroom floor, eyes moving around from the blood splatter on the walls to the pool of blood beneath his head. None of it seemed to bother her. After a moment, she gave a nod.

"Okay. This won't take too long. You want anything in particular for him?"

"Just get rid of him," he replied, his voice a little sharper than he had intended. His expression softened as he looked at her, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks again."

She nodded and watched him go, then remembering called, "The Irishman still needs those meds, by the way."

Jax turned back for a moment.

"We'll get right on it. Might take her mind of things for a little while."

Frankie nodded and focused her attention back on the job. She spotted the speakers atop Tara's dresser and smiled to herself. It wasn't long before Phil Collins' _In the Air Tonight_ was playing softly through the room.

First thing was moving the body. She pulled a tarp from her trunk and wrapped him up inside, grabbing what she needed for the clean-up before placing him inside the car, then she set to work scrubbing. By the time she was done, the room was spotless. She cracked open a window to air out some of the bleach smell, and sprayed her favorite choice of air freshener – a light, citrusy scent that she found covered the chemical smell best. Satisfied that there was no sign any altercation had ever occurred, she grabbed her iPod, grabbed the remainder of her gear, and stepped outside, waiting for the click of the front lock behind her.

She slipped back inside her Dodge and paused a moment, readying herself for the next part of the journey. It was on to the junkyard.

* * *

By the time she had also taken care of her waiting cargo, it was almost morning. In an impulsive decision, she decided to head back to the clubhouse. She gave Gemma a nod of greeting as the woman stuck her head out from the kitchen, where she and some of the other club women were busy preparing things for the arrival of the other charters. For a moment the older woman seemed troubled, then she gave a curt nod and disappeared once more.

Alice then decided to quickly check in on the Irishman, finding Chibs asleep at the table. He stirred as he heard the door close.

"Hope you're not taking those recreationally," she told him, nodding to the pill bottles by his head, noting that Jax had already been through.

"Very funny," he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He reached across for the bottle of whiskey and took a swig as he leaned back in his seat.

"He been awake yet?" she asked.

"Yeah. In and out. Looks like he'll probably pull through. Guess that's thanks to you."

She held his gaze for a moment and smirked. "Guess so. Tig still around?"

"Haven't heard him leave."

"Thanks."

She headed back towards the dorm they had been using, and was about to open the door when she heard one open a few rooms down behind her. Jax stuck his head out, glancing the other way before spotting her. He was dressed now in white boxers and a white t-shirt, a big difference to the jeans and leather she was used to. It made him look more relaxed, and when he closed his door behind him, she realized he must have brought Tara back with him. Relaxed indeed.

He gave his usual nod of greeting as he came towards her, voice soft as he spoke.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah. He didn't give me much trouble," she replied, drawing a gentle snort from him. "It'll be like he was never there."

Jax nodded. "Thank-you. I'll make sure you're compensated for that. Hope it didn't lose you any business."

"Nah. Work can always wait."

"No one escapes that chair, huh?" he smirked.

"Not yet."

They shared a laugh and he threw her one more smile before turning back to his dorm. She gazed at him a moment, then stuck out her hand.

"Hey, Jax?"

He turned back upon hearing her use his first name for once, glancing down at the offered appendage with some confusion.

"Alice."

His brows quirked together as he realized what this was, and he took her hand without any further hesitation.

"Glad to have you on board, Al," he smiled.

She was glad to find Tig still asleep on the bed when she slipped into the room, stripping off her boots, jeans and jacket and she slid under the covers with him. He smiled in his sleep and draped an arm around her, pulling her back against her. Then he began to kiss along her neck, hand slipping down over her breast as she felt him harden behind her.

"Hey?"

He opened his eyes as she turned over to face him, electric blue eyes searching hers carefully in the growing morning light.

"Can we just- Can we stay like this a while?" she asked, resting her head on his chest as he rolled to his back. His arm moved back around her, fingers brushing gently along her arm as he stared at her with concern.

"Yeah, of course. What's the matter?"

She wouldn't meet his gaze for a moment, and when she finally did, he recognized that same haunted look that met him in the mirror every morning. Needing no further answers, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, drawing her in closer as she closed her eyes. It was such a comfortable sensation having her against him like that; it wasn't long before he too had drifted off, thoughts of his growing feelings for her leading him away from the usual nightmares and into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11: Happy

_Fair warning this chapter is probably going to go to a weird place – probably even weirder than some of the Tig stuff so far (which I don't think has even been that bad as far as Tig goes) – I mean, this is Happy we're talking about. So here's a little insight into the relationship between the Nomad and our mercenary. I'd like to dedicate it to_ _ **sillygabby**_ _, since Hap is her favorite SOA character, and_ _ **nicole salvatore**_ _for her suggestion that I write a flashback chapter. Let's keep this train chugging along, shall we?_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor. This chapter contains a fairly graphic sex scene._

* * *

 **HAPPY**

The clubhouse and lot were buzzing with activity later that night, with men from the Washington, Utah and Nevada charters all present, as well as members from a few of their support clubs who had come down to pay their respects to their interstate brethren. The rest of the crowd was made up by the usual hangarounds, sweetbutts and croweaters, all looking for their share of attention from the patched men. Rock music was booming over the speakers, alcohol was flowing just as freely as the pussy, and if the loud, jovial conversations were anything to go by, they were in for a much-needed, stress-free evening.

The members of SAMCRO were seated around one of the outdoor tables discussing the reason behind their new IRA contact. The man they had been dealing with for over a decade, Michael McKeavey, had recently been beaten to death at the port where their guns came in, over a deal gone wrong; and since he was their new associate's cousin, the man was now out for revenge. If they found a way to take out the port commissioner responsible for the death, Hayes had promised them back the 200k they had worked so hard to throw together for him, as well as a month of free guns. With all the shit going on with the Nords and the Mayans, it would be nice to have that bit of breathing space in their business dealings for once.

"Murder for hire? That's a dirty business," Clay was saying now as they discussed the details of the hit. Opie had been first to volunteer, eager to prove his head and his heart were back in the game after his brief 'hiatus', but Jax didn't seem to think he was ready. Honestly, Clay was getting sick of listening to them argue.

Even as the words left his president's mouth, Tig's mind was on their mercenary. She was yet to show despite her assurance that morning that she would be there, and he was trying his best to keep his restless behavior under wraps, tuning in and out of the conversation as he sipped his beer, fingers tapping against his thigh. His mind drifted as they settled on Jax, Opie and Bobby for the hit, and he glanced over at the boxing ring. He suddenly sat forward.

"What the hell? Frankie?"

Mistaking his outburst for a suggestion, Clay waved him off. "We ain't usin' her again," he told his Sergeant. "Consider that pipeline burnt out for now."

"Nah, man, she's in the fucking ring!"

He got to his feet and started heading over. They all turned to look, and sure enough there she was; dressed in grey jeans and a black tank top, wraps covering her hands as she danced back and forth in front of her opponent.

"Who's she fighting?" Juice asked, craning his neck, looking concerned.

Jax stood up and peeked over the crowd, a grin spreading across his face as he turned back.

"Happy."

The president got up and followed after Tig, quickly joined by the others. "Now this I gotta see."

They were circling each other like a couple of wildcats, eyes never leaving the other's face, waiting for someone to make the first move. Frankie struck out first, but Happy blocked her, pushing her fist aside and taking the opportunity to strike a blow of his own. He landed it against her cheek, sending her stumbling back. She was quick to correct her stance, shaking it off and coming in on the attack once more. To their disbelief, the woman was grinning, laughing as Happy continued to block each strike. She gestured to her other cheek and they could have sworn they heard her say, "Hit me. Right here. Come on, right there."

Happy obliged her, striking her harder than before, smiling silently as she spat out blood.

"I don't think I like where this is going," Jax heard Tig say against the din of the surrounding crowd. For someone still sporting the cuts and bruises of their last foray into bareknuckle boxing, she seemed a little too eager to be receiving more of the same. "Frankie!"

Either she didn't hear him over the crowd and the music, or she simply chose to ignore him. Frankie came at the Nomad again, feigning a left hook as she quickly came at him with her right. She struck him in the ribs a couple of times before he socked her hard in the jaw, sending her down onto the mat. There was a resounding 'Oh!' from the onlookers, some looking uncomfortable about the mixed pairing, others eager to see the outcome, and Tig looked like he was fighting to climb in there himself. It was then that she looked over at him, as if sensing his growing concern, and gave him a reassuring, red-toothed grin. His expression faltered and he backed off a little. She looked back up at her opponent, waiting for him to get close and then swung out her legs, knocking his feet out from underneath him, sending him down next to her. This was met by further whoops and hollers from the audience as they egged her on. Jax winced but appeared to be enjoying the show, his expression much the same as the one Chibs was now sporting as they called out encouragement to the two fighters.

"This is so wrong," Juice muttered. From the looks on the fighters' faces, it seemed almost like they were engaging in some kind of violent, twisted foreplay, and Juice couldn't help but wonder if this was what their sex had been like. The image of Happy choking her flashed into his mind and he cringed, quickly shaking the thought away as he downed more of his beer.

Tig watched Alice get back on her feet, taking the opportunity to regain her composure as her opponent pushed himself back up. She came at him again, keeping so close it didn't allow him much room to swing, and began to pummel into his sides, drawing him back against the ropes. Their bodies were so close by now, they might as well have been moving against each other; the action a stark reminder to all the men watching of their physical history together. Frankie got in one last hit to Happy's jaw, then all of a sudden they were laughing and hugging it out. It seemed whatever their intention had been for the match, it was over and done with now.

Spotting their familiar audience, the fighters climbed out of the ring over by their side and hopped down, each accepting beers from a couple of interested croweaters. Alice eyed her drink-bearer with enough interest for Tig to momentarily forget what had him so worked up, and he proceeded to get worked up in a completely different way.

"Good fight!" Chibs told them both, throwing an arm around Happy's shoulders as he clinked his bottle against each of theirs.

Catching Juice's wide-eyed concern, Alice pulled him into a lopsided hug and ruffled the top of his head, but he shrugged away, not looking at all amused.

"Aw, what's wrong, Juicy?" she asked, but he just shook his head. Before he could say anything, Tig stepped in and voiced his thoughts for him.

"Are you insane?" he asked, voice low and steady as his body pulsed with barely-contained anger.

She glanced around at the others, all of whom had been witness to some of her work, then looked back.

"I mean, at least a little."

He turned to Happy. "What the hell, man? Really?"

"Just giving the woman what she wanted," he replied with a smile, gruff voice tinged with amusement over the Sergeant's protective behavior. He had heard about her night with Tig after the last party, but hadn't expected them to keep anything going. The idea of another enforcer – Tig of all people – settling down with someone he had fucked was just too funny to him. His twisted grin only seemed to aggravate the man more.

"Oh yeah? How about you and I get back in there? Settle a few things ourselves?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Christ. Put your dick away, Tig. If you really wanna know who's bigger, you can just ask."

The men's eyes went to Tig as Happy smirked, and he looked about ready to wash his hands of the entire situation. Sensing this, Alice placed a hand on his arm until he finally tore his burning blue eyes away from the Nomad to look at her. His expression softened against his will.

"Come on, big guy. I gotta get some ice on this shit." She fist bumped Happy on the way past, thanking him for the fight, and exchanged a grin with Jax, clapping him on the shoulder. Clay watched all of this with a curious expression, realizing just how relaxed she was getting around the other members. His skeptical gaze followed her, but he was soon drawn back into a conversation about the details of the hit.

It wasn't long before they were back around the table, Alice reluctantly allowing Tig to pull her onto his lap if only to settle him down a little, a bag of ice pressed to her bruises as she felt her cheek beginning to swell.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you enjoyed getting hit," he said to her, taking in the damage with a frown. She just shrugged as she drank some of her beer, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She glanced over at Happy and they sniggered. "What?" Tig asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," she assured him, but he didn't like the way they were looking at each other; some unspoken secret bouncing between them as they grinned.

"Not the first time she's asked me to hit her," Happy said finally, ignoring the look she threw him as his eyes bored into her.

"Except last time you were literally inside of me," she replied, bursting into a fit of laughter as Juice choked on his drink behind her. There were mixed reactions upon hearing that weird, unnecessary little detail of that part of their history; Clay grimacing, Jax just shaking his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, while Bobby chuckled. She noticed the way Tig's grip tightened around his beer and against her hip, where his fingers had been tracing lazy circles under her tank top. She looked over at him, a hint of disapproval to her gaze at his continued, unnecessary jealousy. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Honestly, she found his behavior kind of endearing, not expecting the big, tough biker to care enough to warrant that kind of reaction; but she must have underestimated his level of commitment to her. The thought of it made her feel a little guilty – she just wasn't quite there yet herself.

"I want to know how you two even ran into each other to begin with," Bobby said now, cocking the lip of his beer towards her.

"Aye," Chibs seconded, leaning in with a conspiratorial air, "now tha'd be an interesting story."

Alice and Happy exchanged looks, smiles growing into full-blown grins as he nodded.

"Yeah," Tig admitted, his grip on her tightening once more, "You know, I am kind of interested to hear that."

"You tell it," Happy rasped to her, like they were a couple telling their 'how we first met' story. She chuckled, looked down at the dregs of her beer then downed it before saying, as she placed the empty bottle on the table behind her, "Okay, but I still think it would have been funnier hearing your version."

* * *

The sun beat down on the vast, barren land; the road almost hot enough to melt the rubber off a tire. The highway shimmered off in the distance. Frankie leaned back against her bike as she gazed up at the birds circling overhead, not quite able to make out if they were eagles or vultures, hoping for the former; the latter just seemed too damn cliché. A chorus of crows called out somewhere in the distance as if protesting the intense heat, and Frankie was grateful to have remembered to put sunscreen on that morning. Her skin had developed a nice brown coloring from her years over in Afghanistan and then Cuba, but with her half-Irish, half-English heritage she still had the tendency to burn.

Death Valley. It seemed a fitting place to meet her target.

Her contact had notified her that the ex-bounty hunter had planned a route right down State Highway 190 on his way through to Vegas, where he supposedly had protection lined up. The man had moved from gun-for-hire to the slightly-more-legitimate business of capturing fugitives and handing them over to the law for payment. The feds had taken notice of his new direction, and with a little nudge – not to mention a lot of blackmail – had managed to turn him rat. Ironically, he had a number of convictions up in the air due to his violent past, and had a few bounties of his own hanging over his head. The man had been a professional, someone his clients had thought they could rely on, and he had turned his back on them like a fucking coward. The thought made Frankie's blood boil. Shit like that was bad for business.

She had been hired by a worried ex-client of his, not sure if the man was just stupid or simply had a lot riding on the ex-bounty hunter's testimony; either way, she took him up on the offer almost instantly. She hadn't exactly needed a monetary excuse to take this guy out. Tugging at her leather gloves, she checked her clip again, more out of habit than necessity, and huffed out a bored breath. Just as she was on the verge of going to hunt out some armadillos – not to kill, just to look at; she found the hard-shelled little critters interesting – she heard the distant rumble of an engine. The marked vehicle had been described as a plain, black Mercury – nothing special, simple enough to pick out from a distance. The vehicle coming towards her now from the east was not it.

The black van stuck out like a sore thumb against the blazing azure sky – unmarked and possible trouble. Frankie wasn't fazed. She probably didn't look particularly innocent herself, parked by the side of the road, arms folded as she sat back against her bike. It could only really go two ways: if they were simply passing through, taking the scenic route, they might stop to see if she needed help, or the heat might force them onwards; but if they were there for the same reason she was, she had enough weapons and ammunition in her pack to keep herself covered. There wasn't a lot of cover out in the desert, but if it came down to it, she could always just buy herself another bike.

Just as she got back to her feet, readying herself for a confrontation, she heard another sound in the distance coming from the opposite direction; the low, familiar rumble of an approaching Harley. Well, shit. The squeal of tires caught her attention and she realized the bike was in the middle of a high speed pursuit, chasing down the very vehicle she had spent the better part of an hour waiting for out in the blistering heat.

"God fucking dammit," she cursed, tying her half-skull kerchief around the bottom of her face, dark aviators like empty sockets as they shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight. She climbed onto her Ducati and took off, ignoring the van that had picked up speed behind her.

By the time she reached the battling vehicles, the rider on the Harley was already firing into the windows of the Mercury, sending glass flying over the driver. The car skidded, moving on an awkward angle, and Frankie could already see what was going to happen. She slid to a stop just as the car began to flip; once, twice and one final third arc before coming to a stop against a boulder. She was glad this job didn't necessitate her pulling the trigger – she couldn't see the motherfucker surviving that.

The guy on the Harley rolled to a halt and turned to look at her. She caught a glimpse of the back of his kutte. A reaper. Guy was part of a goddamn motorcycle club. She tugged down her kerchief. Her target must have really pissed off a lot of people. The Harley rider dismounted and started making his way towards her, gun still in hand but resting by his side. As he drew closer, she began to make out his features; dark olive skin, a shaved head, high cheekbones and sunken sockets. Guy was a goddamn walking embodiment of his club's emblem. His eyes went to her hand and saw the gun, but before he could raise his weapon, their attention was drawn to the screech of tires behind her.

The van skidded to a sideways halt and the doors were thrown open. Three men leapt out carrying guns: one average-looking, blue-collar type who had been driving, and who was probably leading the band of wannabees; a skinny guy in a white wife-beater and torn jeans, sporting a horrible mullet and looking like he had just come off a weeklong meth-binge; and the guy who stepped out from the back, a massive brute of a man dressed much the same as the meth-meddler, only with more tattoos running up the sides of his arms and across his chest. She wondered if he thought it made him look tough. She made a note to kill him first.

"The fuck is going on here?" Mr. Working-Class-Hero asked, glancing from Frankie, to the biker, then off to the wreck behind them. For a second she almost thought these guys were simply passing through, then she spotted the disappointed looks cross their faces. Bounty hunters. Fucking bounty hunters. She hated bounty hunters almost as much as she hated clowns. Then again, in her eyes there wasn't a lot of difference.

"Accident, I guess," she told them, feigning innocence.

"Cute," the man replied, "What the hell is some random bitch doing out in the middle of the desert, and armed, too, I might add? Why don't you tell me that?" He raised his gun as if expecting to intimidate her and the others followed suit like a couple of underdressed puppets. Frankie folded her arms and cocked her head at them. She glanced up as the biker reached her side and he looked equally as unwelcoming at the sight of the three collectors. "And who the fuck is this?"

The biker grinned and raised his gun, joining the stand-off with a little more enthusiasm than Frankie liked. She furrowed her brow at him in curiosity, then her eyes dipped down to read the flash stitched to the front of his leather. SONS OF ANARCHY. TACOMA. UNHOLY ONES.

'Unholy Ones'? Who the hell was this guy?

"The guy who just took out your target, I reckon," she replied, "And since you guys no longer have a living body to bring back with you, why don't you stick those sorry looking tails between your legs and run back home to your master like good boys?"

"The fuck did you say?" the big guy said, stepping forward. How it was that a woman sitting calmly on her bike, weapon not even aimed, could manage to intimidate a bulging bundle of muscles, she didn't know.

"Easy there, Lou Ferrigno, wouldn't want to pull, well, everything."

His gigantic neck tensed as he fought to keep himself from beating her, not wanting to tarnish his reputation by laying into some little biker bitch.

"For all we know, the guy might still be alive," their leader stated. She threw him a look.

"You could go check," she said, then she finally raised her weapon and stepped off her bike. "But I'm pretty sure you'd have to make it past at least one of us first." She gestured between herself and the silent Son.

The men scoffed. She felt like she was in a goddamn movie dealing with shitty henchmen. She glanced back over at the biker, but his dark eyes were on the three men, darting between them as if trying to decide which one to kill first.

"You two nancies working together?" Muscles asked.

The biker glanced at her then and at the same moment they raised their secondary weapons on each other.

"Nope," Frankie replied.

"Well then," Blue Collar smiled, "Looks like we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Three to two, sweetheart-"

She shot the big one, blood and brains splattering back into the open van as he collapsed heavily to the boiling asphalt. She could already smell his flesh sizzling against it.

"I count two," she said.

She caught movement from the corner of her eyes and realized the biker was now smirking. He met her gaze and shrugged.

"Still three," he told her, reminding her he was there for himself. She aimed at the junkie and took out one of his knees, finishing the job just as he cursed and raised his weapon. She looked back at the man beside her and he cocked his head without expression; touché. The remaining bounty hunter was visibly shaken by this point, but she had to give him props for standing his ground. Slowly, he reached down and picked up the pistol of one of his fallen comrades, aiming a gun each at his two antagonizers. Now they were caught in a real, genuine Mexican stand-off.

"So how are we gonna do this?" he asked them, as if he had any more chance than the two on the ground.

"Well, I'm gonna take a guess that we're the only two here doing this for money," Frankie began, "This guy's patched. Probably personal. Am I right?" She looked over at the biker, who gave a brief nod, curious where she was going with this; he was starting to get bored. "So let's make this easy, then." She turned her full attention to the Son, guns still trained on him and the bounty hunter. "I get out o' here alive, you get half of what my client's paying me."

The Nomad eyed her steadily, considering the offer much to the bounty hunter's dismay. Since his own payment relied on the target arriving intact and without any visible marks, he didn't have anything of his own to bargain with. "I should get all of it. I killed the asshole," the biker rasped. There was a strange quality to his voice, like someone who had smoked some pretty heavy stuff most of their life, or someone who had received their fair share of chokings. She put it down to likely a bit of both.

"Well, technically we don't know that," she reminded him.

"That's right," the bounty hunter said, like he still had a chance in this. They both threw him looks that quickly shut him up.

"Sixty-forty," the biker said.

"Fifty-five, forty-five."

He stared at her, drawing her in with his dark, glinting eyes.

"Seventy-thirty."

She scoffed. Now they were just going backwards.

"Fifty-six, forty-four," she said, and he chuckled.

He looked her up and down in a way that made her feel practically naked and she soon found herself doing the same to him, admiring the way the tattoos on his forearms stood out against his warm complexion, the way his muscles looked as his t-shirt sat against them. He was an interesting looking man, not unattractive, and looked like the kind of guy who could fuck a woman just as easily as kill her. Frankie smiled and caught his smirk.

"Fifty-five, forty-five, my way," he said, "And I fuck you."

She cocked an eyebrow and made a thoughtful face as she considered it. Didn't take long.

"Done."

They lowered the weapons they had trained on each other and turned in unison, emptying their clips into the last remaining bounty hunter. As Frankie stepped over to give Muscles a kick just to make sure the hulking beast was dead, the biker added, "Plus I get the guy's head."

"Maybe we should flip for it," she joked, "Heads or tails? Actually, never mind. That one answers itself."

* * *

"So, do you actually need that for your club, or is this just a personal hobby of yours?" she asked as she stood over by the wrecked Mercury, watching him saw away at the dead man's neck. Inexplicably, he just happened to be carrying a saw on him, and she couldn't help but wonder just what she had gotten herself into in agreeing to that deal. They had pulled the target out of the wrecked car, surprised to find him still alive – barely. He was in pretty bad shape, but the biker hadn't seemed to take any notice, taking out his saw and straddling the man to begin his work. It had taken a disapproving 'Dude!' from Frankie to get him to stop and choke the guy to death first.

He looked over at her now, expecting to see her at least dry-retching, but if anything she just looked bored. She looked off towards the horizon, keeping an eye on both directions for any more approaching danger. The scene around them wasn't exactly the picture of innocence; though she didn't doubt that – man, woman, or child – this guy would happily take out any witnesses that should come their way; he was actually smiling as he worked.

"Might want to hurry it up there, Smiley," she told him as his saw continued its gentle rasp through the guy's spinal cord.

"Happy."

"Hm?" She looked down at him, expecting him to have picked up his pace to please her, but then she realized that wasn't what he was talking about. "Really?" He threw her a dark look that made her rethink her words. Then she smiled.

"Frankie."

"You a bounty hunter?"

She spat.

"Fuck that. Mercenary."

He looked her up and down again, first studying the scar on her face, his gaze then landing on her tattoos. He eyed her USMC ink.

"You serve?"

"Yeah. You?"

He shook his head. "Know a couple of guys who did, though. Marines."

"Recent?"

"Desert Storm."

She nodded. Bit before her time.

He rose to his feet now, grabbing the severed head by its short, brown hair. He held it up.

"What do you need for your guy?"

"Just a photo," she said, taking out her burner. She made as if to take one with it, "Smile." He didn't really look like he was living up to his name. He tossed the head down into the dirt for her and she threw him a look, kicking it a little closer to the body to help with the ID. Once that was done, she looked around. Happy approached with a black garbage bag and scooped the head back up inside it, tying the excess plastic in a knot. He tossed it back over to his bike then looked back at her, arms covered in blood up to the elbows. He came towards her and she realized his intentions, backing off a little. Sure, she wasn't bothered by the occasional beheading, but she wasn't about to strip down next to a bleeding corpse in the middle of the desert; girl still had her standards.

"Uh, how about we find a motel? My shout. Then we'll see where we're at after you've washed that shit off your hands."

He smirked. "You scared of a bit of blood, lady?"

She stared at him, cocking her head. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea."

* * *

She was in the middle of sending through the picture of her target to her client when her phone was ripped from her hands and tossed aside.

"Hey!"

Happy ignored her protests as he stood naked in front of her, fresh from the shower, body still glistening with water. She was allowed a brief second to take him in before he flipped her around and bent her over the bed.

"Not one to stand on ceremony, huh?" she grunted, his forearm pressed in the back of her neck. He held her like that for a moment and ran a finger from his free hand down her spine, chuckling when he felt her shiver. Her hips rose up at the sensation and he took the opportunity to tear off her underwear. He released her from his hold and knelt down behind her as he forced her legs apart. She turned her head to watch him but received a hard smack across the ass for doing so. She quickly turned back, groaning at the sharp sting. A finger traced her entrance and she knew the introduction of pain was already making her wet. Realizing this, he struck her again, this time a little harder than before. She yelped but the noise quickly dissolved into a moan.

Grinning, Happy dove into her folds face-first and she bucked back against him, whining in surprise at the sudden sensation. His tongue lapped against her in a way that had her legs shaking and she pressed back against him, his nose practically buried inside her. It wasn't long before she was clawing at the sheets as she rode out her first orgasm. He kept it going as long as he felt necessary, bringing her to the brink again before getting to his feet and thrusting into her without warning, sending her over the edge. He didn't allow her any time to adjust to his size, pummeling into her, pace driven by her subsiding contractions. His fingers sank into the flesh of her ass deep enough to bruise and he smacked her again.

"Fuck!" she cried out. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, gazing down at her, eyes dark with control. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this turned on; she could already feel her third orgasm building. He released his hold on her hair, forcing her head to whip forward before he flipped her over onto her back and took hold of her legs. He pulled her to the edge of the mattress and slipped her legs over his shoulders, thrusting back into her picking up his pace once more. Without warning, he grabbed her by the arms and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself steady, but they didn't go too far; he soon had her up against the wall, black eyes boring into her, completely expressionless.

Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she whispered, "Hit me."

This seemed to register with him, but he gave a particularly hard thrust of his hips, urging her to repeat herself a little louder, the ghost of a smirk hovering across his lips.

"Oh! Fucking hit me!"

Without a second's hesitation he brought the back of his hand across her cheek, the slap sounding heavily through the motel room. Her cheek marked pink, she grit her teeth and ordered him to do it again. This time he smirked. He hadn't had one like this in a long time.

He brought his hand across her face a second time and she groaned.

"You like that you crazy bitch?"

"Fuck yes! Again."

The third time had a little trickle of blood running from her nose, and her tongue darted out to meet it. Her eyes met his again and this time he saw a wild glint in them. She leaned forward and brought him into a deep kiss, and though normally he had a rule against it, he allowed her the freedom for a brief moment, tasting her blood on his lips. He pulled her away roughly with his hand around her throat and squeezed. This seemed to be all it took to send her over again, and it wasn't long before her tightening walls were drawing out his own climax. He turned them around and tossed her back onto the bed, a couple of final pumps all he needed to finish himself off. The second he was done he pulled out of her and stalked back into the bathroom. Still coming down from her own high, Frankie glanced around in a daze. She heard the water running once again and her eyebrows rose in brief judgment. She sighed. She hadn't taken him for cuddler.

She got to her feet, considered waiting for him to hop out so she could take a shower herself, but then decided to take the more enigmatic approach of simply disappearing into the night. She gathered up her clothes, got dressed and grabbed her gear, heading for the door; but not before leaving a quick little note.

When Happy stepped out from the bathroom, he was grateful to find the mercenary had already taken her leave; he hated when bitches played dumb. He glanced around, making sure she hadn't stolen any of his shit, then spotted his laden garbage bag set atop the desk by the door. He stepped towards it, noticing the card on top, and picked up the bit of paper. On it was a phone number and a short message: _Thanks for the head._

He chuckled to himself.

* * *

Alice downed the last of her second bottle of beer, courtesy of Half-Sack, and glanced around at her audience, whose rapt attention she still managed to hold. She had brought the story to a conclusion right around the part where she had suggested they find a motel, and had been staring off, smiling as her mind replayed what had come after like an old home video. But somehow her ending just wasn't enough for the band of degenerates.

"And?" Chibs asked.

"And what?" she asked.

"Did you fuck?" Bobby finished for him, as if the question was obvious.

She didn't reply, but instead looked to Happy, exchanging deviant smirks once more. The men turned their attention to the Nomad.

"Yeah we did," he answered, before receiving a number of congratulatory high-fives from his brothers. Alice rolled her eyes and looked over at Juice, but found he had disappeared. She wondered at what point in the story he had left. Glancing back at Tig, she found him deep in thought.

"Hey," she said, as the others attempted to get details of the tryst from Happy. His eyes moved to meet hers but his expression remained blank as he took a sip of his beer. She ran her fingers down his chest then up to stroke the USMC tattoo on his forearm, finally managing to draw a smile from him. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, "Why don't you take me into one of those dorms and show me who really does it best?" She felt him stiffen beneath her and she chuckled.

He got to his feet, practically throwing her from his lap, then threw an arm around her shoulders, his hand slipping down to cup her ass before he gave it a squeeze and a slap. "Let's get out of here." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her through the crowd towards the clubhouse with her grinning the entire way. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to break it to him, but compared to Happy…Tig was the tame one.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Okay, so, first sex scene. Hope I did alright! I realized I've been calling Happy a Nomad since the start of this story, but in canon he may have still been part of the Tacoma charter. He was during the time he met Frankie, anyway, so let's just say he had transferred by this point. Hope you enjoyed that little look into their history together. There will be more a little further down the line – this time involving Happy_ and _one of my personal favorites, Kozik – and that will show a little more how their bond developed. That's going to be fun to write._

 _Anyway, thanks again for reading. Reviews are always much appreciated!_


	12. Chapter 12: Alice

_**Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **ALICE**

She left Tig in a post-sex sleep-coma as she crept out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She had almost laughed at the care he took to not aggravate her post-fight injuries, even to the point of pulling out mid-blowjob when he'd seen a flicker of pain cross her face, skipping his turn and going straight to hers. It was such a stark contrast to Happy's treatment, and though the two were considered the most alike within the club, to her they couldn't be more different; if only the others could see that side of him. Even though her jaw had been killing her, she had made it her mission to try and cheer him up. Seeing him bitter and distant like that was almost as bad as seeing Juice upset; she couldn't stand the wounded puppy eyes.

She had been worried from the moment she had realized that he'd disappeared during her story, forgetting how much he hated to hear about the time she spent with other men. It had been easy when she had been away on tour, when they would chat online or by email, or, failing that when she didn't have access to a computer out in the field, even send each other letters. They had never bothered talking about relationships or sex, busy reminiscing about happier days when they had spent almost every moment in each other's company. She could never get sick of hanging around with Juice. No one made her smile more than the goofy idiot, and he could always see through her bullshit. Only he knew the real Alice. The problem was, he didn't know the real Frankie – Tig was the one she had entrusted with that part of herself for now – and that side seemed to be consuming her more every day.

She approached his dorm now and knocked, drawing a steady breath as she prepared herself for the impending conversation. If he was in there with another woman, fine; she would go back to Tig, save this talk for another day. If he didn't even bother answering, she would take that as a sign, too. But when he opened the door, a joint hanging from the corner of his mouth, she could see that despite the weed he looked wide awake. He seemed surprised to see her – not when Happy and Tig were in the immediate vicinity – and for that she felt guilty.

"Hey," she said, tacking on a smile.

"Hey, what's up?" he replied, his own smile just as forced, as he took the cigarette from between his lips. She shook her head at their behavior – they had known each other nearly their entire lives and it had still somehow managed to come down to this.

"I think we need to talk."

He didn't look too thrilled about the idea, but he moved from the doorway nonetheless to allow her in. Her fingers brushed over his chest as she passed by, thanking him, and his body stiffened under her touch. He hated her a little for that; knowing she hadn't meant anything by it, but that she could still have that much effect over him.

He shut the door, tensing his jaw a little, gathering his thoughts, and when he turned around he found her sitting on his bed, deep in thought. In that moment he felt a flash of revulsion. He knew that she had probably just come from fucking Tig, or Happy or whoever the hell she was bringing into her bed these days, and the idea of her settling so comfortably into his personal space now, as if he were somehow just an afterthought to her…

Alice looked over at him and when she caught his expression, she was back on her feet. She hadn't been thinking.

"Fuck. Juice. I'm sorry." She ran a hand back through her hair and purposely distanced herself from his sleep space. She gestured to the computer chair and he gave a nod, feeling incredibly guilty that she had caught him in his moment of loathing. This wasn't them. He shook his head at his selfish behavior; it wasn't her fault she didn't feel the same way, he reminded himself. Just thinking it stung, and he had to focus his attention elsewhere just to let that feeling pass.

"Why'd you leave tonight?" she asked him.

He looked over at her, considered lying that he'd gone to get a drink and gotten distracted, but he knew she would see right through it.

"I don't need to hear about how you fucked Happy," he replied honestly, taking a quick, nervous drag of the cigarette.

Her expression faltered a little and she nodded; fair enough. He offered her the smoke, but she waved him off.

"I didn't go into detail."

"I'm sure Happy is as we speak."

They were silent for a moment, Juice taking one last drag before stubbing it out in the silver SOA ashtray on his nightstand.

"You know, when I came to Charming," Alice began, gaze trained down to the floor, expression pensive, "it was because when I got back home, I didn't know what do with myself. Probably because you weren't there anymore. Things weren't the same. And I considered setting up shop there, but I didn't want to do the kind of stuff I knew I would be doing that close to home. I knew I couldn't look my family in the eye every time I saw them, knowing I'd probably have just come from torturing someone, or killing someone, and try and convince myself that I still deserved their love and acceptance. So for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to come and be near you. But it's the same damn thing."

He was looking at her funny now. "What are you talking about?"

She waved the idea away. She hated getting touchy feely. "Forget it."

"No, seriously, what the hell are you talking about?" he pushed, sitting forward on the edge of his bed, feeling more sober than he wanted to be.

"Juice, come on, man," she replied, voice soft but with an edge, as anger and guilt rushed over her without warning; anger at herself, not at her friend. "I mean, look at us right now. The way I treat you? I don't deserve shit from you."

"The way you treat me?" His frown deepened. He had never heard her talk like this before.

"I know what you want from me, Juice. I've known how you felt about me since we were kids." His face reddened and he glanced away. "But I... I flaunt these guys I've fucked right in front of you, just like I used to when we were in high school, and I laugh like putting you through that is funny. It's fucked up, man, that I could treat someone who loves me so much like that."

"It's not your fault you don't love me back." There was so much conviction in his voice when he said it, as if he had already convinced himself that it was the only explanation to why she acted the way she did. She felt cold fingers envelop her heart and squeeze; those words hurt her more than anything he had ever said to her.

"What?"

"It's okay," he went on, forcing a weak smile, "I'm the one being an ass. You're obviously happy with Tig. If I was even the least bit decent, I would be happy for you. I just…you know. It's hard."

She shook her head and turned away from him. When she turned back, he was surprised to see tears glinting in her eyes. He moved towards her immediately, worried he had triggered one of her episodes.

"No," she was saying, "No. I do love you, Juice. So much. Don't ever think that I don't."

"Okay," he agreed, kneeling in front of her, eyes full of concern, "Okay, I won't think that. Please don't cry. Why are you crying?"

"You don't deserve this shit, Juicy. I should never have come here, man. I don't know what I was thinking."

She got to her feet and stepped around him, but he caught her by the hand.

"No, wait. What are you talking about?"

When she failed to give an answer, he suddenly noticed the way she was breathing – fast and shallow – and he led her over to his bed, not caring who she had slept with anymore. He sat her down, still holding her hand, and waited until she was ready to continue.

"This conversation took a turn," she chuckled, wiping at her tears before they could fall, drawing in a long, shaky breath. He smiled, but his expression remained full of worry. "You want to be with me, right?" she asked, and he could tell she felt stupid voicing the question; embarrassed even at sounding so presumptuous. For her sake, he answered truthfully, praying they could just get this all out of the way and go back to how they used to be.

"Who wouldn't?"

She snorted gently and looked at him to see if he was being serious. The amount of adoration she read in his eyes then damn near broke her heart.

"No one should."

"You're so full of shit."

She looked over at him and he was shaking his head, even as his fingertips traced comforting shapes against her palm.

"You're a cool as fuck soldier who kicks ass all day," he told her, ignoring her playful scowl. He didn't care how ridiculous he sounded, she was going to hear this. "You're tough. You're smart. Smarter than me. But then that's not hard, right?" he said, nudging her, trying to make her laugh. She smiled, and finally a happy little noise escaped her mouth. He smiled to himself and went on, "You're funny. Like, ridiculously funny. I've never known a person you couldn't make laugh. You even turned Chibs around the other day. And you care. You're in here making sure my weak ass is okay, when you could be having what I imagine is really, really weird sex with Tig. You've got a big heart. I don't understand how you could think that you don't deserve to be happy."

She stared at him, close to tears again, and furrowed her brow. "You imagine the sex Tig and I have?"

His smile faltered into a sarcastic scowl. "Can we maybe focus a little here? I'm trying to be serious."

"Juice, I kill people, man. I torture people. If you knew half the shit I've done…"

"I don't care."

She frowned at him.

"Seriously. If that's why you're thinking all this shit…I mean, every guy in this club has killed someone at some point, me included. Does that mean none of us deserve to be happy?"

"You do."

"I am."

"Juice."

"No, I mean it. I mean, I have this family now who all look out for me. I have you back with me again, also looking out for me. I just gotta stop being a dick about the Tig thing. And I'll try. I promise."

Her expression brightened a little. Looking at her now, how vulnerable she looked despite the smile on her face, the way her big, blue eyes shone beneath her tears, he thought of one of the most important things he had left off the list. How damn beautiful she was. He knew she was self-conscious about her scars, but honestly he barely noticed them anymore. It didn't matter to him, anyway; any mark on her body was still part of her, and there was no part of her he didn't like. It had always been that way. Even after all the jealousy, all the bitterness of seeing her with other men, seeing her happy was more important to him than anything. He reminded himself of that now as she rested her head on his shoulder, his own tears threatening to spill. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and felt his heart swell with affection. He wished they could stay like this, that they could slip under the covers and just fall asleep like this, but all he could think of was how, within a few moments, she would be slipping out of his arms and into those of someone else to do that with instead. As she pulled pack to check his expression, he made sure to smile down at her.

"We'll be alright," she told him softly.

"Yeah," Juice assured her, ignoring the tiny, niggling doubt in the back of his mind. "We'll be fine."

* * *

Agent June Stahl was, as Juice had so accurately described to her only days before, a real piece of work. When she rolled onto the lot of Teller-Morrow for the umpteenth time in so many weeks, her reception was just as warm as it had been the first time. An attractive woman in her late-forties, Agent Stahl carried the same cocky confidence as Gemma; a look at what might have been had the motorcycle queen landed on the other side of the law. She stepped out of her car and looked around the lot, searching, not for the first member she saw, but whoever appeared to be the first available weak link in the SAMCRO chain. She spotted the prospect in the garage and smirked.

"Half-Sack, isn't it?" she asked as she approached. The kid looked up from the car he was working on, startled. "Agent Stahl, ATF. I'm looking for an Alice Cooper."

He frowned at her, replying stupidly, "I think you might have missed his show a couple of weeks back."

She chuckled and held out a picture of the woman he had come to know as Frankie.

"Frankie?"

Realizing he may have just given away information to the feds, Half-Sack paled. Stahl allowed a moment for that panic to settle in before saying, "That's right. Frankie. Is she here?"

He stared at her silently.

"Can I help you?"

They turned to see Gemma leaning out of the office, her usual expression of unconcealed distrust fixed on the familiar agent.

"Mrs. Morrow. So good to see you again. I'm here for Frankie."

"She ain't here."

Stahl pulled a face like she was utterly mystified by this news, then looked out at the black Ducati parked in the lot. "I guess you guys are just letting anyone in the club now, huh?"

Scowling, Gemma stepped back into the office to make a quick call.

Moments later, Alice appeared from inside the clubhouse, flanked by Tig, Jax, Juice and Clay. Stahl could only smile. The woman had already managed to weasel herself into the club's protection. How nice.

"Miss Cooper?"

A dark look came over Alice's face at the use of her real name. Then just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a cooperative smile.

"Yes, how can I help?"

Despite her friendly façade, the men around her stood with their arms folded and stony expressions. The contrast made Stahl smirk.

"You're wanted for questioning."

"On what charges?" Clay asked automatically.

Stahl's large, blue eyes flashed to his, and despite his posturing, she was unintimidated. She had back-up waiting in the car, but she didn't expect any of the men to lash out. Her eyes went to Trager, the girl's current squeeze, then to Juice, the best friend. Neither of them looked ready to give her up without good reason.

"That's between Alice and myself."

"Alice?" Clay frowned. He looked down at her but she didn't meet his gaze, staring intently at the woman currently interfering with her day, not to mention her identity.

"What's it gonna be, sweetheart?" Stahl asked, eyebrow quirking up with self-assurance.

"Just let me grab my purse," Alice replied, throwing in another sickly sweet smile. She turned back towards the clubhouse with Tig and Jax following behind her, leaving the other two men to keep an eye on the federal agent.

"Your real name is 'Alice Cooper'," Tig asked, and she could hear the teasing tinge to his voice. She glared at him as they stepped inside.

"Save it until I get back, yeah?"

He chuckled, then the reality of the situation hit him and he ran a hand down over his face.

"Why the hell does she want to talk to you?"

"Not a clue."

"They've been rounding up all the women who have connections to the club," Jax explained to her, "They got one member's wife already. You never met him, but they busted her on bullshit drug charges, hoping they can press him to flip. They questioned Tara at the hospital today, too."

Alice looked up, frowning. "Seriously?"

He nodded, "They spoke with Donna, too. Opie's wife. No one's given them anything. Last I heard they got Cherry, probably thinking she'll spill on Indian Hills, if not Sack. Must have something against her."

Alice took this in, considering their reasoning for going after her. "Juice," she guessed, "I've known him the longest."

"Maybe Tig," Jax added.

She threw him a playful, incredulous look and jerked her thumb at him. "What are you talking about, I don't know shit about this guy."

He smirked as Tig took hold of her shoulders and pulled her back against him. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," the older biker smiled.

"Feds have jack shit on me," Alice went on, "I can guarantee that. I'll be out of there in five minutes, tops."

"I don't doubt it. You've been good on all your guarantees so far."

"I don't know what their endgame is with this, but they won't get shit from me."

Jax nodded but cocked an eyebrow as he considered this – she probably knew shit from Juice, she was the kid's best friend, practically on the level of an Old Lady in that regard – and she certainly knew at least a couple of incriminating facts about Tig; but he couldn't see her turning rat. He trusted her enough to at least give her the benefit of the doubt on this one.

She disappeared for a moment to Juice's dorm, where she had been in the middle of some business-related research with him after offering him a recurring role when it came to intelligence grabs. She reemerged carrying her bag, rifling through it for the few questionable items she carried. She pulled out two handguns, trying to remember which one she had the license for, then passed the other to Tig.

"You good with this?" he asked her, shoving the weapon into the back of his pants and hiding it under his kutte. She didn't reply for a moment, busy doing something on her phone.

"Yeah," she smiled, closing it and dropping it back into her bag, "I've dealt with feds before. They don't bother me."

She gave him a quick peck on the lips, if only to calm him.

He gazed down at her, her confidence lending him some reassurance, and clapped her on the ass. "Good."

"I'll be back before you know it," she smiled.

They followed her back out and watched as she got into the back of Stahl's car.

"What, no cuffs?" they overheard her say to the bemused agent holding the door for her, "Where's the fun in that?"

She shot them both a cheeky look and Tig grinned.

"Alice _Cooper_?" Jax said, glancing over at him, arms folded across his chest.

"Man, I don't even know what to say to that," Tig replied.

* * *

"You must have caught a lot of shit in high school with a name like that."

Stahl sat across from her now in one of the interrogation rooms, thumbing through a folder that contained the few details she had on Alice 'Frankie' Cooper. According to said documents, the woman was clean, an upstanding citizen, not so much as a parking fine; and that just didn't sit right with her. Nobody dipped their toes into the murky waters of SAMCRO without getting at least a little dirty.

"Luckily for me, not a lot of glam rock fans in Queens."

Stahl gave a condescending smile.

"You are an interesting one, aren't you?" she said, pretending to read over facts she had already memorized. "Ten years in the Marines, four of those at Guantanamo. You must have seen so much."

Stahl glanced over at her and found her sporting the same, patronizing smirk.

"That's classified."

She chuckled. "Decorated with a Distinguished Service Cross for 'heroics in the face of great personal risk'. You know, I'd say you don't really sound like someone who'd have any reason to want to hang around a small town motorcycle gang, but maybe you're just looking for that rush you left behind in Afghanistan."

"Or, maybe I'm looking for the best friend I haven't seen in over ten years."

"Ah, yes. Juan Carlos Ortiz. Goes by 'Juice', right? You know, I heard you'd been on this side of the country now for a few months, figured that would have given you plenty of time to 'reconnect' with your old friend, so to speak. Then my surveillance team tells me you've been spotted several times cozying up to one Alexander 'Tig' Trager." She placed a surveillance photo down in front of her. It had been taken outside the Teller-Morrow lot and showed her and Tig in an intimate embrace; no illusions as to what was going on between them. "How's Juice feel about that?"

"What, you've never had a threesome?" Alice retorted, still smirking. "That's a nice shot. Think I can get it framed?"

Stahl stared at her, already getting the feeling she wasn't going to get anywhere with this one; not that it had really been her intention. After everything she had heard about her, she had honestly just wanted to meet the mysterious woman.

"You know," Alice said now, gazing down at the black and white photograph, "I'm not unfamiliar with interrogation techniques. Since I know you have nothing on me, I'm going to take a guess as to why I'm here. You've been picking off the women of the club, probably because you have nothing on the men, going after the ones with the most to lose. You've got Luann Delaney, hoping that by threatening her, you'll scare her husband into flipping. You tried to bully Tara in her workplace, maybe giving her a look at what life will be like tethered to an outlaw biker. You arrested Cherry, on what I'm guessing are some interstate charges, since she's been doing just fine this side of the border, what, hoping she likes freedom more than loyalty? And now me. What do I have to lose? Nothing worth ratting out my best friend over. And since your line of questioning has had no real direction, and as far as I see it, you've been wasting both of our time here, I'm going to guess that the point wasn't getting me to flip, it was to try and tarnish my rep with the club. Good job. Bravo."

"And here I was thinking you jarheads were a bunch of well-trained 'yes'-monkeys," Stahl smiled, leaning forward in her chair. She gazed at Alice a moment, taking in her calm expression, eyes searching hers for at least a hint of what the younger woman was thinking. She had a hell of a poker face, she'd give her that; one that was still littered with the remnants of what looked like one nasty fight, the bruises faded to a dull yellow. Stahl wondered which of the supposedly 'innocent' men had given them to her, drawing her own conclusions.

"You know, a few months ago, there was a very interesting witness testimony that came out. Some old, ex-mercenary-turned-bounty-hunter. He named a lot of the people he had crossed paths with over the years. Clients, victims, a couple of biker clubs he had done work for, and a number of people who shared his profession. A name came up. 'Frankie'. Not the first time the name had come up for us. Nor for the FBI, from what I heard. No backstory, no last name, just a description. Average height, short blonde hair, toned body, likely military trained. Statement said she was the most notorious on the scene, into some 'messed up torture shit', I believe were his exact words. Claimed to have seen her cut a man's eyes out for not seeing 'eye to eye' with a client. She's come up a few times over the years, always the same description, maybe with the exception of hair length and color every now and then. But every time, the witnesses have all had the inexplicable habit of disappearing. This one turned up decapitated by the side of Highway 190, along with the bodies of three known ex-associates."

She pushed a photo of the headless man in front of Alice, the one she had watched Happy straddle in the middle of the desert, and she feigned disgust.

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, pushing it back, looking away.

"You really expect me to believe that that bothers you?" Stahl asked in a sarcastically sweet tone, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not every day you see a decapitated body."

"No, you're right. What's that, like, your Sunday?"

Alice chuckled, then grinned in a way that sent shivers down the veteran agent's spine. "Of course not. I'm at church on Sundays."

Stahl's eyes narrowed at her, trying to figure out just how an average, middle-class white girl had gone from military hero to brutal mercenary. Of course, they didn't have any real concrete evidence on the woman, and as far as she could tell, she was the first agent to actually take her in for questioning. That fact struck her as particularly odd. She fit all the descriptions; her history lined up perfectly. Yet somehow no one had taken up that trail. There was a thread there just begging to be pulled, and part of her wanted to be the one to pull it.

A knock on the door broke their silent stare-off. They both glanced up to find a man in a black suit standing in the doorway, Deputy Chief Hale not far behind him. Hale appeared caught between looking apologetic for the interruption, and confused at the presence of this new, well-dressed stranger.

"Agent James Bellard. Central Intelligence Agency."

"Excuse me?" Stahl blinked at him, failing to hide her surprise, and glanced back at her suspect. The girl was smirking at her.

"By order of the CIA, you are to release this soldier, effective immediately. Failure to comply may result in the cessation of all current operations, as well as the detainment of all non-compliant individuals."

Alice imagined it was a rare sight, seeing June Stahl at a loss for words. She looked genuinely shocked; eyes wide, mouth gaping. Alice grinned. She clapped her hands down on the table, indicating their little tȇte-á-tȇte had drawn to a close, and got to her feet.

"Well, lovely meeting you, Agent Stahl. I'll be sure to give your love to the club. Oh, and let me know how you go with that Frankie thing. Sounds interesting."

Stahl was fuming. She watched the agent take Alice gently by the arm and lead her away, wondering what the hell she had just managed to step into.

* * *

"Hey, thanks, Bell," Alice told her rescuer as they stepped out into the Californian heat, pausing at the bottom of the steps. James turned to look at her, sporting his usual cocky smirk.

"What'd they have you for?"

"Not a thing. It is the ATF we're talking about here."

He chuckled.

"The name 'Frankie' got thrown around a lot, though."

"Did it now?"

"Yeah. Weird, that."

They shared a laugh. James Bellard was a good-looking guy; high cheekbones, light green eyes, wavy brown hair and a chiseled jaw. Beneath that suit of his lay the body of a man who looked after himself. Though he had helped get her out of trouble many times before, Alice had never found a reason to get into bed with the man; they had known each other a long time now, and he reminded her a lot of her older brother.

"What's this I hear about you running around with some motorcycle gang now? Doesn't sound like your kind of scene."

They both laughed again. James was well aware of all of her extra-curricular activities, and had been since her stint at Guantanamo, where the pair had first met. He had overseen her training and been tasked with a sort of protective detail; the government like to keep track of all their trained interrogators. Never knew when people like that might come in handy again.

"Need a lift?" he asked her, as he lit up a cigarette.

"Might look a little suss. I'll take a cab back. Thanks, though. What have they got you working these days?"

"Humidor duty. Same as always." 'Humidor duty' was the term used to describe the watchful eye the CIA kept on all the agents and soldiers that had come out of the Cuban-based prison – 'humidor' a reference to the airtight container used to keep cigars fresh. Since all of the best agents and soldiers had been 'made' in Cuba, the name seemed fitting. And the agency responsible certainly liked to keep them fresh; ready at a moment's notice to perform acts that no one else could, and though Alice had never been called back into active duty, Frankie was always available, waiting. "You know, you ask that every time," he told her.

"Guess I'm just optimistic that you would have been promoted by now."

He chuckled as she pulled out her phone to call the cab service.

"Hey, how's things with Gwen?"

He smiled at her for remembering his latest relationship. "Good. Real good, actually. We're engaged. Thinking of buying a house by the coast."

"Oh shit! Congrats, man."

She clapped him on the back just as the operator picked up and he offered a casual nod of good-bye as she began to speak, heading towards his own mode of transport. Wouldn't be the last time he saw her, he was sure.

* * *

The boys were in Church by the time she arrived back, discussing the recent ATF interference, but the door was open almost invitingly. Unsure how to approach, Alice quietly stepped up to the entrance and knocked, interrupting what was being said by the president. Everyone turned to look at her. She wasn't quite sure how they were going to take the disruption, feeling once again like she was encroaching on their sacred space, but Clay motioned for her to step inside. Glancing around, she noticed for the first time the Chief of Police seated at the opposite end of the table. He was looking at her with equal confusion.

"Who's she?" he asked.

"Friend of the club," Clay replied, throwing him a look that suggested it wasn't really his business. That seemed to put an end to any follow-up questions he might have had, as he shrunk back against his chair, remembering his place. "You're out already?" the president frowned.

"Yeah. Stahl had nothing. Though I guess that's not much of a surprise."

"What did she want with you?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. I think she somehow thought rocking up here and bringing me in might tarnish my rep with you guys."

"What has she got on you? She know what you do?"

Alice cocked an eyebrow. "All she had to go off was some defunct witness testimony from a dead bounty-hunter-turned-rat."

"What's that got to do with us?"

"Nothing. She brought up my history with Juice. Lapse in logic, I guess. Haven't seen the kid in over ten years. Too long to give them anything that might have helped a RICO case. Plus I wasn't around when he patched in, anyway." She looked over at Juice and gave a reassuring smile, which he was quick to return. Admittedly, he had let a few things slip to her over the years about some of his dealings with the club – usually seeking her advice, or simply a sympathetic ear to dump on – but there was no one he trusted more with keeping those secrets.

"Anything else?"

"She brought up Tig."

The man in question stared at her. "What did you tell her?"

She smirked. "About eight inches."

There was laughter around the table, which only increased in volume when Chibs retorted, "You know they could still get you for perjury, lass."

"Don't believe her? I'll show you right now, brother, just say the word," Tig told him, hands going straight to his belt buckle. Clay held up a hand to stop, throwing his Sergeant a disapproving look, and turned his attention back to Alice.

"Uh, there's one other thing you guys need to know, and I want you to hear it from me. That way that ATF bitch can't try to twist it her way."

They all sat forward in their seats, giving her their full attention, thinking the worst.

"The reason I got out so quickly. The CIA came for me."

Silence washed over the room.

"CIA?" Jax said, the first to break it, brows pulled into a confused frown.

"Yeah."

"What the fuck?" Tig voiced. His gaze bored into her as she managed to at least look a little sheepish.

"You're in with the feds" came Clay's voice, not a question but a clear statement, as if he had known it all along. He looked to Juice, who appeared equally stunned by the news, then back at Alice, appearing ready to get up and toss her out himself. But she just stared, expression almost offended by the assumption.

"No," she said with hard assurance, looking pissed that after all this time the club president still didn't trust her, "If you'll let me explain."

"Please do."

She glanced at Tig and caught the threatening look of betrayal behind his eyes. She clenched her jaw but pressed on, looking first to Unser, "He cool with this?"

Clay nodded. "So long as you don't gotta go into detail about anything."

She agreed. "You all know I served at Guantanamo." There were nods all around the table, all except for the Chief, who looked surprised at this, wandering what the hell kind of company the men were keeping these days. "There are two main factions overseeing the complex. The military, and the CIA. My uh" – she glanced at Unser again, choosing her words carefully – "line of work necessitated ongoing contact with the Agency, especially during my training there. I'm still technically considered government property."

"Property?" Juice asked, "Like they own you?"

"In the same way your bikes are your property. They're your investment. Yours to look after and tune-up; maintain optimum performance, if you will. For your own benefit. Because failure to do so could be catastrophic."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Unser frowned, "You sayin' the feds are scared of you?"

The way she smiled then – the calm, cold look in her eyes – gave them all some idea of why. The Chief looked around the table and found the room of biker outlaws looking uncomfortable. They had clearly underestimated what she was capable of.

"Why wouldn't they just try to take you out, if that were the case?" Chibs asked.

"They've tried," she assured him, and she heard him mutter a barely-audible religious curse under his breath. "I think they found it was easier to keep me on their side."

"So, what, you're untouchable?" Clay asked, with a deeply skeptical look, trying to ignore the bile rising in his throat.

"I wouldn't say that," Tig quipped.

"I'm protected," she told them, "At least when it comes to legal shit."

"And that helps us how?" the president scowled.

"I told you I had connections."

"Yeah, like morticians that owe you favors," Tig said for example, struggling to get his head around her latest confession. She knew he hadn't forgotten about that.

"Local politicians, judges, shit like that," Jax continued along the same lines. "Not _CIA_." He shook his head. He seemed torn and she felt an immediate flood of worry. Just when she was building decent relationships with these men, she felt like she was watching them crash down around her.

"I don't know what you guys are worried about. Seriously. If anything, now that I'm involved, if shit hits the fan and it looks like I'm going down too, this'll override anything the ATF comes up with."

"So long as you're involved," Clay caught on.

"So keep me involved."

She stared down the president, whose expression was still dominated by distrust, but he appeared to be considering this. "Why didn't you bring this to us sooner?"

She scoffed. "What, and bring on this warm reception?" His gaze darkened and she sighed. "It didn't seem necessary."

"And now it does? After all the shit we've been through?"

"I knew after Stahl found out, she would have tried to use it against me. Probably would have tried to convince you guys that I was undercover or some shit."

"Wouldn't have been hard to buy," Clay admitted, eyes still flecked with a dangerous glint.

"Exactly. I didn't want you getting the wrong idea. I came here on good faith to tell you all myself. I have just as much riding on all of this as you do, by this point. You've seen what I do. Why the hell would I flip? I mean, there's at least three of you in here I wouldn't want to see get put away."

The room remained silent and her eyes flicked briefly to Juice, who shook his head; wrong time for jokes.

Clay exchanged a look with Jax, then they looked back at her. "Give us a minute." She glanced at the Chief, who stared back expectantly, then nodded, stepping out as she closed the door behind her.

She took a seat over by the bar chewing at her cheeks as she awaited their verdict. She had done a lot for them over the past few weeks – surely they would see the benefits of keeping her around.

Church adjourned not long after, the men filing out single file, each casting a glance in her direction as they passed by; not in an entirely unfriendly way, which gave her some hope. Tig hung back as Clay and Jax approached, Juice not far behind them looking a little guilty as he glanced around. She turned her attention first to Jax, trying to gauge his mood, then to Clay. Both seemed relatively calm, as though they had reached a mutual decision. She stared at them as they gazed at her silently, willing one of them to speak up. Clay looked to Jax.

"Look, we know you didn't have to come to us with this," Jax began, "but you're right about Stahl. She would have tried to twist it back on you, and honestly? We probably would have believed her. But you've done right by us so far. Skill-set like yours comes in handy, and we don't really want to lose that."

She breathed an internal sigh of relief, realizing what that meant.

"Juice, here has vouched for you," Clay said, his expression still stiff as his eyes bored into her, gesturing to her sheepish-looking friend. "Meaning one slip up from you, he's out."

"What?" Alice asked, glancing over at him, eyes wide as her brows pulled together. He was willing to risk his place in the club just for her reputation? He was using himself as collateral. She shook her head at him, but before she could say anything, Jax went on:

"I don't think we're going to have any problem with that."

"For Juicy's sake," Clay told her, "We better not."

She nodded. Point read loud and clear. She exchanged a small smile with Jax before he followed Clay out, knowing he would have had some hand in keeping her around, then turned to look at her friend.

"What the hell, dude?" she asked him, and he just shrugged, smiling gently.

"I know you're not a rat."

"Stahl finds a way to convince them otherwise, you're out."

"Not gonna happen."

"You're right. I'd kill the bitch first."

He chuckled at her and she pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple before they parted. He glanced over to where Tig was waiting and turned back, making an attempt at an accepting smile. She smiled back at clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll meet you back in your dorm, yeah? We can finish up that stuff?"

"Yeah, okay," he agreed before turning away and leaving them to it.

Tig approached slowly, hands on hips, watching Juice recede back towards the dorms.

"We good?" she asked him, as he came to a halt in front of her. He stared down at her, unable to help the smile that came over him as he sensed her uncertainty; she was genuinely worried about losing him.

"Yeah, we're good, babe."

She cocked an eyebrow at the latest pet name and he chuckled, drawing her closer.

"Just one thing I gotta ask, though."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Alice Cooper? Really?"

She smacked him on the chest and he chuckled.

"Shut up."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Man, I've been sitting on that joke for a while. So it turns out Alice is a little more dangerous than they first thought. Not sure how Clay's going to feel about keeping someone around that he can't easily manipulate, but I guess we'll find out. And now things are out in the open between our girl and Juice, maybe he'll be a little more supportive about the Tig thing. Hope you guys liked that little glimpse at a softer side to Al, which I'm going to try to include more of as the story progresses, just so you can get the real contrast between her and her alter-ego._

 _Hope you enjoyed reading the latest installment, and I hope to hear from you all! Until next time (which I'm sure won't be too far off)._


	13. Chapter 13: Mistakes

_**Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **MISTAKES**

"You still awake?"

"Yeah. I gotta be honest, I'm a little worried about fallin' asleep around you now. For all I know you could choke me to death in my sleep."

Alice looked up at Tig from where she rested her head against his chest, fingers playing with the leather cuff around his wrist, and cocked an eybrow.

"Trust me, if I was going to choke you, you'd be awake for it. And possibly inside me."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her.

"God, I love you."

He felt her freeze under his touch and his eyes widened, realizing his mistake.

"What?" she asked, pushing herself up on one arm, her expression close to panic.

"Ah, shit. I didn't mean that how it sounded," he back-peddled quickly as her eyes searched his. "Shit. Forget I said anything."

She smirked as he rubbed at his eyes, and he knew she wasn't going to let him live that one down any time soon. She settled back down against him.

"So what is it about me exactly that you love?" she asked.

He groaned and she chuckled, face pressed against his ribs.

"Listen here, _Alice Cooper._ "

"Don't call me that."

"Or what? _No More Mr. Nice Guy_?"

She had been enduring the Alice Cooper puns ever since Church had let out the previous day – not that she needed any more of a reason to hold a grudge against Agent Stahl.

"Asshole."

He laughed and ran his fingers through her hair, gazing down at her. She looked up at him, feeling a flood of affection at the softness in his startling blue eyes.

"You know, that's kind of how I got my nickname."

"What, Frankie?" he asked. She nodded.

" _Feed My Frankenstein._ One of the first songs I trained to," she said, and he knew she was referring to her interrogation training. "When the guys found out what my full name was, they started calling me 'Frankie'. Frankenstein. But also because they claimed that's what some of my work reminded them of."

"Jesus Christ."

"Come on, I would have thought you'd be used to that by now."

He smiled down at her, but the expression was empty compared to the unspoken thoughts lurking behind his eyes.

"Do I seriously creep you out?" she asked.

"Sweetheart, if I didn't think there was at least something wrong with you, you wouldn't be in my bed right now."

"Probably actually explains it."

He laughed again.

"That reminds me. I gotta ask. All that shit with Happy, getting beaten up like that, you actually get off on that?" He caught the sly little smirk on her lips and knew he had his answer.

"Yeah. Gets me wet."

He groaned a little at that and pulled her closer.

"I love it when you talk like that."

"Do you? Do you love it?" she teased.

"Shaddup," he groaned, holding a hand over his eyes as he pressed the other to her mouth, feeling her giggle against it. He finally released her and found her smiling thoughtfully.

"Do you think could ever do that, though?" she asked, referring to her violent fetish.

"Honestly? I doubt it. It was hard enough watching him beat you up. I couldn't hurt you like that."

She had to admit, she was touched by the sentiment. "Even if I liked it?"

"Even I have my limits."

She scoffed at that, but looked back up, gazing at him steadily. She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and then went in for a deeper kiss on the mouth, moaning as he slipped his tongue passed her lips. He rolled to his side, forcing her onto her back.

"Maybe I have my limits too," she said, biting her lip, "Wanna test them?"

"Baby, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

They were in the middle of a game of pool back at the clubhouse when it happened. Alice was losing badly, silently grateful she hadn't agreed to play Tig's strip-based version of the game, while Juice sat on his laptop at the bar focusing on deleting old, incriminating files; ignoring that taunts occasionally being thrown his way by the older biker. Bobby sat at the end of the bar reading a newspaper, and Gemma had claimed one of the small tables, covering it with paperwork from the shop. She cast the occasional critical glance over at the blonde and her old friend, but otherwise kept any unkind words to herself; she had too much shit to get through as it was, without getting into it with Tig's latest fuck buddy.

"So what do I get if I win?"

"Darlin' you are so far off winning, it ain't gonna matter," Tig replied, lining up his next shot. He was two balls off sinking the eight and Alice still had half a dozen left to go. "The important thing is, what do I get?" In one smooth motion, he sunk his second last ball, glancing up at her with a grin. Chibs watched the proceedings from his barstool. He had begun distancing himself from Alice again since her latest Church confessions, unsure what it was that bothered him more: that she seemed to harbor so many secrets, or that, if it ever came down to it, she might actually beat him in a fight. If she had managed to allude CIA assassins, who knew what the woman was capable of?

"How about the satisfaction of knowing that you somehow managed to beat me?" she replied to her opponent now. He came around the table to stand behind her, leaning down to talk right into her ear as he pressed his body against hers.

"How about, when I win, I get to fuck you right here on this table. Right here, right now." She glanced over at Chibs, who had his arms folded, regarding her with a hesitant expression, then at Juice, who still had his back to them. She could tell he was listening in as he lifted his beer and took a sip, attention focused on his screen, trying to block out Tig's blatant come ons. Alice turned to face him, cocking an eyebrow as she ran a hand down his bicep. He made to lean in but felt something hard poking into his chest. Looking down, he caught her gripping her cue.

"Not in front of the kids," she told him, and he chuckled, yielding as he took a step back.

Their attention was drawn to the Chapel doors, as Clay stepped out on his cell.

"Alright. Thanks Jace." He hung up.

"That Rosen?" Tig asked, referring to the club's lawyer. Clay nodded.

"Yeah. Luann's in the clear. Otto, not so much."

Tig frowned, "Why? What happened?"

Clay glanced around at them with a shit-eating grin, hands on his hips as he chuckled to himself. "He shattered Stahl's face."

There was laughter from all around. There wasn't a single person in that room who could say they hadn't fought the same urge at least once since the ATF had shown up at their door. Well, maybe with the exception of Juice, who at the very least would have apologized for it.

"We're clear of the ATF, ladies and germs!" their president announced to celebratory cheers. He cast a brief glance in Alice's direction and she gave a small, strained smile accompanied with a nod. He didn't have to remind her what was at stake if that ever failed to be the case. Sighing, she turned back to watch Tig sink his last ball. That was when she heard Juice.

"Clay, cops!"

Before anyone could move, the front door burst open, shattering the adjacent glass window. A SWAT team moved in, guns aimed, shouting for everyone to get on the ground. Tig took a protective step in front of Alice, momentarily forgetting what she was capable of, instinct kicking in as he watched his brothers dragged to the floor. Alice tensed as she watched one of the men force Juice to his knees, fighting the urge to disarm him, when she caught Jax coming out from the dorms. He was apprehended immediately and shoved just as unceremoniously to the ground. Realizing she was the last one left standing, it wasn't long before she had one of the SWAT men hassling her too. She stared him down.

"Get on the floor!" he ordered, "Now!"

Fighting the urge to take his weapon, she grinned darkly. "Try it," she told him, as he reached out to grab her. She felt Tig smack her on the ankle, urging her to submit before she got hurt. Reluctantly, she gave in, hands behind her head as she dropped to her knees. The officer forced her the rest of the way down, and it was then that Agent Stahl stepped through the doors. Every member of the club, patched or otherwise, shared the same expression – their only reprieve in seeing the state of the woman's face; dark bruises surrounding her swollen nose and cheeks.

One of the other agents threw cuffs around Bobby's wrists, bringing him back up to his feet.

"Robert Munson, you're under arrest for the murder of Brenan Hefner."

Bobby just gave him a confused look as he led him away. "Who?"

Recognizing the name, the others dropped their heads, silently cursing.

"I'll call Rosen, Bobby! You just sit tight!" Clay called to his brother, receiving a hard kick in the ribs in return. This sent the others into a flurry of rage, as they struggled against their captors. Taking the opportunity with Stahl standing right beside her, Gemma called out to the still inexplicably cocky agent, "Hey! Bitch!" and spat, receiving her own kick to the side from the agent herself. If Bobby's arrest hadn't riled them up enough, that certainly did it. Clay was fighting against the boot pressed between his shoulder blades as Stahl glanced around at them with a condescending smirk. There was something different about it though, like Otto's beating had genuinely shaken her.

"Manners, darling, manners," she told the battered biker queen, as Gemma clutched her ribs and groaned.

* * *

It wasn't long after the team and their ringleader had left, that Clay was on his cell making calls. He called an immediate Church meeting once he was up-to-date on the details of Bobby's charges, jabbing a finger in Alice's direction, then in the direction of the Chapel, much to Gemma's confusion. Alice turned back to her.

"You gonna be okay?" she asked, eyes darting to the hand she had pressed to her side.

"Only thing wounded here is my pride," Gemma retorted with an unfriendly scowl, which softened as she realized the other woman was being genuine. "Why don't you go see what he wants?" she asked, not bothering to mask the suspicion in her voice. She waited until Alice had disappeared through the heavy, wooden doors to pull up her shirt, spotting the beginnings of a nasty bruise where Stahl's foot had connected with her ribs. She cursed the bitch who had given birth to that evil cow.

Alice closed the doors behind her, feeling entirely out of place in the coveted meeting place. The looks she was receiving from some of the others wasn't helping much either; this was becoming all too frequent for their liking. Even after all the help she had given them, she was still the outsider here.

"Well, 'Frankie'," Clay said, drawing her gaze to where he sat at the head of the table. "Here's your time to shine."

For a moment she looked uncertain.

"They got Bobby at Federal Plaza in Stockton. ATF says they got an eyewitness who saw Bobby kill Hefner."

She nodded, catching his point, but Tig took on her confused expression instead. "What? Jax, is that even possible?"

The hit on Hayes's cousin's killer had been assigned to their VP, Bobby and Opie. It was supposed to have gone off without a hitch. Hayes had even already come through on his promise of their 200k back before they had been forced to ship him off to Canada for fear of the ATF tracking him down. Cherry had gone along with him after a few of her own past indiscretions had caught up with her. It turned out the charges the ATF had on her were genuine; grand theft, arson, attempted murder. Not to mention the little fact that she was married. This hadn't bothered Half-Sack, since she had assured him that it was well and truly over with her abusive ex, but it had hurt him to see her go; it had been their only option. It was either that or risk her ratting, since she was facing at least twenty-five years jail time. She and the IRA soldier would be well and truly on their way to Ireland by now.

Jax sighed and shook his head, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"From my end it was all clear. Shit's a goddamn bluff."

"You can't charge someone on a bluff," Clay reminded him. "Whatever they got, it's real."

"Who is the bastard witness?" Chibs asked.

Clay looked to Alice. "That's what she's gonna find out." They all turned their gazes to the connected woman. "You make some calls to your CIA buddies. Get an ID on this rat. Then? You take them out."

Her gaze fell as she ran her tongue over her top lip, considering how to put her next words delicately. She glanced up again, looking around the table as she said, "I hate to bring this up, but" – she gestured to the empty seat towards the end of the table; the one that Opie had recently started occupying again – "You're a man short."

Jax made a face as though he had been avoiding that glaring fact, and the others exchanged uncomfortable glances. Alice threw an apologetic look at Piney, who appeared offended at the suggestion that his son had anything to do with this sudden raid.

"I tried every number," Juice told them, corroborating Alice's tentative theory, "There's no answers. I tried Donna's phone, too."

"Maybe Donna changed the goddamn number!" Piney defended, not liking where this was going. He knew what the club did to rats – his son was not it. He couldn't be. But the others were already nodding, as if it was the only logical conclusion. Piney turned a hateful gaze on the woman by the door.

"Look, I'll go get him," Jax assured them, getting to his feet, fighting to keep his expression calm, at least for his best friend's sake. He wouldn't let them condemn him to a Mayhem vote; not when they had so little to go on. A hunch was not a reason to kill a man, especially not a brother.

"Well, you better find him," Tig voiced. Jax stopped in his tracks and turned to the Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Now what the hell does that mean?" Piney asked.

"You say you guys were clear," Tig said to Jax, following Alice's train of logic, "Only two other guys witnessed that hit. One of them's in jail, and the other one's-"

"Hey! Don't even say it, asshole!" Jax spat. Tig was his feet in an instant, stepping up against the younger man.

"You better curb your disrespect-"

The others were soon on their feet, too, pulling the two men apart while Alice squeezed the bridge of her nose, weighted with the guilt of what she had started. Clay threw her a look, blaming her for the sudden flare in tempers, and she glanced away.

"Look, everyone's nerves are fried!" he shouted, "Now is not the time to unravel!"

"I'm going to find Ope," Jax told them, bitter assurance in his voice as he stalked towards the door. "I'm going to find out the facts before I start accusing people of shit I know nothing about." He directed this last part at her and she took it like a slap in the face, gritting her teeth against his harsh tone; his words stinging her all the more as she caught the look of betrayal in his eyes. He slammed the door behind him.

"I'll go make those calls," she said solemnly.

Clay nodded, expression still dark. "Yeah. You do that." He dismissed her with the flick of a hand and she followed Jax out. For a moment she considered going after him, apologizing for what she had started, but he already halfway out the door. He needed some time to cool off.

* * *

"Hey, Coop, what's up?"

"Bell, hey, I need a favor."

It didn't take long to relay the facts to her CIA contact, receiving his assurance that he would look into it and get back to her with details as soon as possible. She thanked him, not forgetting to add that she would wire him enough to make a down payment on that coastal home for his assistance. He was more than happy to help. She hung up just as Juice walked in. She had gone to his dorm to make the call, loath to receive any more judgmental looks from the SAMCRO men; and at that moment it was the place she felt the most comfortable.

"All good?" he asked her, and she sighed.

"He's gonna get back to me when he knows something."

She sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, running a hand back through her cropped hair.

"Shit, what have I started here, Juice?"

"Look, I get why you brought it up. It's a fair assumption."

"Jax is right, though. I'm starting shit when I don't have all the facts. I didn't expect everyone to take up the torches and pitchforks so quickly."

He gave a light, barely amused snort. "I'm going to look into a few things of his. See what I can find. Don't worry about Jax. I saw the look on his face. We were all thinking it. You were just the one who said it."

Alice nodded as she considered her friend's words. She thought back to her conversation with Stahl. She had been going after all the women with the most to lose, and for Donna and now Opie, that was family. The man had already served five years for SAMCRO; risked losing his marriage, his children, a loving wife. If a witness had ID'd him, would he be so willing to do it all again?

* * *

It wasn't long before one of them had some answers.

Alice was seated at the bar, staring down impatiently at the phone in her hand, deleting old messages as she awaited her callback. Clay and Tig were seated at one of the tables, anxiously awaiting some form of news; they still hadn't heard back from Jax. Juice approached from the dorms looking worried. Alice glanced up at him.

"Just talked to our guy over at San Joaquin Savings and Loan. He checked Opie's finances," he told them, sliding a paper across the table.

"And?"

"Someone paid off a huge chunk of his debt. Federal wire transfer. Mortgage, credit cards, car payments."

The two older men sighed, Tig looking like all his worst suspicions had just been confirmed.

"This stays between the three of us," Clay said, and the club members nodded. He turned to Alice. "Can I assume your line of work comes with some kind of confidentiality clause?"

"Mum's the word," she replied, expression darkening at his suggestive tone. Appearing convinced enough he turned back to Tig.

"Go," Tig said to Juice, sending the boy away. He looked over at Alice but didn't see the point in doing the same; she was too deep in it now anyway. This whole thing had come about after her suggestion, so it seemed only reasonable that she stick around to hear it out.

"Opie sold us out," he said to Clay, nodding to himself like he was now fully convinced.

"Or the ATF wants us to think he did," the president reasoned. "That bitch is smart. Devious gash!" He picked up the nearest bottle of alcohol and smashed it against the wall. Alice watched, expression drawn. "You! Where are you at with your contact?"

She glanced up with a dangerous glint in her eye at being addressed in such a manner and Tig shifted in his seat. "I'm waiting on his call."

"You're the one who started this shit. You're gonna be the one to prove it, one way or another."

"Excuse me? I made a rational suggestion. You guys were the ones to jump on it so quick. Maybe it's not the first time you've doubted Opie's loyalty."

"The fuck did you just say?" Clay said, making his way towards her. He stopped close enough to be almost touching her, a clear invasion of her personal space in an attempt to intimidate her. Tig just looked on, caught between his loyalties to them both, his devotion to the club winning out. She had stepped over the line and he knew it. "Just because you're taking a momentary seat on my brother's dick, doesn't mean that gives you a seat at our table," Clay snarled, "You do as you're asked, you get paid. That's it. You ever say shit like that again, CIA won't be the only ones you're watching your back for."

Alice stared at him, expression almost bored, then said, "I'll let you know when I hear something." She headed towards the doors, not bothering to look at Tig as she went. Clay turned back to Sergeant, catching the man's conflicted look.

"Don't even start."

"She's done right by us, Clay. And with this" – he picked up the piece of paper Juice had placed down in front of them – "I mean, it don't exactly look like she's wrong. Ope's head ain't been in it since he got out. We all know it."

"You know what it means if he's turned."

"Yeah. I do."

"And she won't be the one to do it. We will. That's how this shit's always been done."

"I know, brother."

"You willing to have that over your head?"

Tig looked up at him, a determined look in his eye.

"If he's flipped, Clay, I'll pull the goddamn trigger myself."

* * *

Alice made her way out to the lot, cursing under her breath at the sudden turn of events. She glanced over at the office and spotted Gemma rubbing her side, wincing as her hand moved over the forming bruise. She moved towards her.

"That bothering you?" she asked from the doorway.

Gemma glanced over, eyeing her steadily, but didn't reply.

"You should get it checked out if it's still bothering you in a couple of days. Might have cracked a rib."

"Yeah, I'll do that," she replied in a tone that made it very clear she didn't appreciate the unsolicited advice.

Satisfied she had sufficiently aggravated enough Tellers for one day, Alice turned to leave.

"Hey."

She turned back, slightly surprised.

"Cameron said to thank you for what you did for him the other night. He said he was too out of it to do it himself."

"Oh yeah? How's he doing?"

"He's healing. Thanks to you. Where'd you learn that shit, anyway? You some kind of doctor?"

"I was a medic. Marines."

Gemma furrowed her brow. She wondered if this had something to do with Clay keeping her around, but then she knew Chibs had enough experience to get them by on most occasions. Alice could feel the uncomfortable questions coming, and she didn't know how to answer them. She was generally pretty open with people she considered potential clients, but she didn't know how much Clay told Gemma about the club. The last thing she wanted to be doing, especially now, was stepping on any toes.

"Discharged?" Gemma asked.

"Yeah."

"So what do you do now?"

"Oh, you know, odd jobs here and there."

"Odd jobs? That's what they got you doin' here? Odd jobs?" She stared over at her with a skeptical expression, wondering how the younger woman expected her to believe that.

"I'm mainly here for Juice. We grew up together. Hadn't seen him for a while. Was looking to move over to the west coast anyway."

"And Tig?"

"What about him?"

Gemma cocked an eyebrow. Did she really want to play that game?

"I know you two are fucking. Tig ain't exactly subtle when it comes to getting laid. Not often he makes it a regular thing, though. You lookin' to be his Old Lady?" She really didn't mess around when it came to sussing people out.

"Uh, I'm not sure. We're kind of taking it one day at a time. Seeing how it goes."

"Yeah, well, Tig ain't exactly the type to want to settle down. Last time he tried that, didn't end well for anyone."

"I'm not forcing anything. I've always been a flexible kind of girl."

"I bet you have," Gemma said, not bothering to cover her judgmental tone as she looked her up and down, "And, what, Juice is your back up?"

"Of course not. Happy's first in line for this ride."

Gemma gave an almost genuine smirk at that, one of the few times Alice had ever felt any kind of approval from the woman. It was a nice feeling, knowing she had cracked her a little; especially when she wasn't sure where she sat now with Jax anymore.

"And what's that like, being with Happy?"

"Fucked up as it is fun," Alice smirked back. Gemma nodded as if she would have thought as much.

"Well, anyway, thanks for your concern, but I'm sure I'll be just fine. I've taken worse hits from bigger bitches than Stahl."

"That I don't doubt."

Gemma regarded her for a moment, and she worried that might have offended her with the remark. Then she surprised her with a more genuine smile, cocky though it still was.

"We're having a little get together tomorrow night. Little homecoming for Abel, my grandson. Tig and Juice'll be there. I'd assume Tig probably would have planned on dragging you along anyway, but I figure the invite might sound a little more formal coming from me."

"He's finally getting out, huh?"

"Yeah, he is."

Alice considered her current standing with Jax. She didn't think turning up at his son's homecoming after accusing his best friend of betraying their club was the wisest decision, but this seemed like such a rare opportunity to get an in with the Queen. So she gave her most diplomatic answer.

"I'll check my schedule. I appreciate the thought though."

Gemma scoffed. "Yeah, wouldn't want to miss out on one of those 'odd jobs'."

Alice chuckled and took her leave, heading towards her bike. She considered stopping back in to say bye to Tig, but figured leaving him in the lurch might prove to be a little more fun.

* * *

She received a call from Jax later that night, asking her to meet him. He had interrupted her in the middle of yet another job, but even as she dumped the body into the plastic barrel, she knew she couldn't let this opportunity slip out of her fingers. Since she was a little far out from Charming, they agreed to meet at the diner where they'd had their first sit down; a destination that sat somewhat in the middle.

He was already there when she arrived in her Dodge, smoking as leaned up against his bike, one hand shoved in his pocket. He gave a nod of greeting which she returned as she switched off her engine.

"Hey," she said as she got out, trying to gauge his mood as he looked over.

"Hey." He nodded towards the building and she followed him in.

"I need to talk to you about this thing with Opie," he began, after they'd been seated. Dick made a show of fussing over them, then disappeared after they both made it clear they weren't there for the food.

"Look, I'm sorry I even said anything. It wasn't my place, man."

"No, you made a fair call. Clay put you in that position. That's what I need to talk to you about. All this shit with the CIA? I need you to get a positive ID on the person that saw us that day. Prove that it wasn't Ope. I spoke to him earlier and Clay's agreed to sit down and hear him out, but I don't think he's convinced. I'll even say it – right now, everything's pointing to Ope. I mean, Chirst, some of his debts have been cleared. Federal wire transfer. It's gotta be Stahl setting him up. Opie is not a rat." He spoke the last few words with a determined conviction, defending his friend's honor. He gazed over at her now, wondering what rift he had caused with his earlier outburst. He knew they needed her on this more than anything. If anyone could prove Opie's innocence, it was her.

"I spoke with my contact. He hasn't gotten back to me yet, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

"We might not have that much time. Clay thinks Ope is the rat, he might try something stupid. He'd do anything to protect this club. Even if it means…" He trailed off, not wanting to incriminate his president any further, let alone think about that possibility.

"The moment I find out who it is, they're gone, Jax. I know you're always saying I don't owe you guys any loyalty, but, hell, you and me? We're the only family Juice's got left. I know how much the club means to him. To Tig. To you. If it's in my power, I won't let it go down easily. Besides, you still owe me that 15k."

He smiled at the joke and relaxed a little into his seat, as if a weight had been lifted. Suddenly, everything was okay between them again. He wasn't quite sure what it was about her that made him want to keep it that way – despite some of the things he had heard over the past few days, he didn't fear her in the same way that some of the others seemed to; he just didn't think she'd ever turn those violent talents on him. Whether it was simply the prospect of finally finding a way of keeping the club out of danger, or that he felt a rare sort of trust towards her, that momentary loss of faith between the two of them hadn't been sitting well with him. Their chat up on the rooftop had offered him a glimpse at the person she really was, and he couldn't help but get the feeling she was someone else who wanted out from the daily violence their paths had put them on.

"Oh, your, uh, mom invited me tomorrow night, too, by the way. I hope that's cool with you," she told him.

"My mom?" he asked in a deeply incredulous tone.

She chuckled. "Yeah. That cool with you?"

"Absolutely. Geez, Gemma actually invited you? I don't care what kind of things you've achieved so far – Distinguished Service Medal, evading the law, ties with the CIA – earning an invite from my mom tops all of that."

She gave a full, genuine laugh at that, and he suddenly had an idea why Tig was so enamored with her. Underneath all the dark, twisted shit on the surface, she was a genuinely good-hearted girl.

"So what should I get Abel?" she asked as they strolled out, tipping a quick wave towards Dick, who gave his usual, nervous nod in return.

"Nah, you don't gotta get him nothing. Don't wanna spoil the kid."

"Who are you kidding? With the uncles he's got, kid's already halfway there."

* * *

The party was already underway by the time she made it to Jax's. Tig had been messaging her, asking where she was as the clock ticked almost forty-five minutes past the time she had agreed to meet him there. Feeling guilty as hell that her job had gone over, she clutched her gift to Abel, only then noticing the smear of blood on her hand.

"Shit."

Gemma answered the door, catching her frantic attempt to scrub it off.

"You made it," she said, eyeing her with a curious frown.

"Yeah. Job kept me back. Tig here?"

"One of them 'odd jobs'?" Gemma said, not bothering to wait for a reply. She spotted the gift and smiled. "Yeah, he's here. He's been pining after you all night. Won't get off his damn phone. You must be doin' something right."

Alice chuckled as she stepped inside. Everyone was there, (with the exception of Bobby, of course), standing around talking and drinking. She spotted a few people she had yet to meet, but put on a warm smile as she nodded to those she did know. Jax spotted her first, getting to his feet to greet her with a hug.

"Here, I got this for Abel. It took a couple of stores to find the right one, but I knew it when I saw it."

Jax took the gift from her, a big smile planted on his face. It was a little biker teddy bear, complete with leather kutte, American flag bandana, torn jeans and black boots. The white t-shirt beneath the kutte read 'LIVE TO RIDE'.

"It's perfect," Jax grinned, giving her another hug. "Thank-you." He held it up for the others to see, earning sounds of approval from all. "Hey, this is Tara," he introduced, throwing her a silent look to play along. Of course, she had already met his girlfriend, but since the circumstances surrounding that particular meeting were a little dubious, they knew they couldn't let on to that. Despite being a few drinks in, even Tara maintained enough tact to play along. "And this is Wendy. Abel's mother." Alice turned to greet the older blonde behind her, accepting the hand the woman held out to her. She didn't let it show, but for a brief second her eyes flicked to the track marks on the Wendy's arms. She suddenly remembered what Juice had said about the emergency caesarean, but she kept her smile warm and inviting.

"Alice," she introduced herself without thinking. From over by Gemma, who now held Abel, Chibs threw her a strange look. She quickly glanced away, silently cursing her long night at work. She hadn't slept since Tig's awkward verbal slip-up; just another side-effect of her manic episodes. It helped a lot when she had a surplus of work to complete, but not when it got to the point where she made little mistakes like that. Even Jax was giving her a strange look.

Wendy went back to chatting with Piney as Alice rubbed her eyes.

"You okay?" Jax asked her, teddy still in hand.

"Yeah. Just…long day."

He smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze before heading over to Abel to show him his new toy.

"There you are," she heard from behind her. She turned to see Tig and Juice sitting together on one of the couches and almost did a double take. Staring at them quizzically, she approached.

"What?" Tig asked, as she glanced between them.

"What's going on here?" she asked, waggling her finger from one to the other.

"Just having a friendly conversation."

She looked to Juice, silently asking if he was cool, and he gave a nod. She didn't know what to say.

"He got a gun to your back or something?" she asked, and he chuckled. The two men shuffled apart to make a space for her, which she gratefully sat back into, still sporting a confused look. Suddenly a devious look came over her and she put an arm around each of them. "You know, this reminds me of this really great dream I had one time." The two men looked at each other, realized what she was talking about, and shuffled a little further away from each other. Alice just laughed.

"So, what kept you?" Tig asked, "Or do I not even need to ask." He spotted the smear of blood on her hand as he finished speaking, throwing her a disapproving look as he glanced up to meet her gaze. "You couldn't clean up a little first? It's a goddamn baby's homecoming."

"Shit, I thought I got it all." She licked her thumb and attempted to rub at it again, this time with more success. She glanced at Juice.

"I don't want to know," he said, a line that seemed to be quickly becoming his catchphrase around her.

"That was cute, what you got him," Tig commented.

"Yeah, I used you as inspiration. Big ol' biker teddy bear."

She heard Juice make a sound of protest beside her.

"I am not nearly drunk enough to be listening to this crap," he moaned, pushing himself up to his feet, empty bottle clutched in his hand. "You guys want anything?"

"No beer. Do they have any coffee?"

"You serious?"

"Yeah. I'm about to fall asleep over here, Juicy."

"Lame."

"Shut up."

He disappeared to go find something to wake her up, leaving her alone with Tig. She had noticed his unusual behavior from the moment she sat down. He was stiff, and not in the usual way; his movements with an edgy quality to them. It probably wouldn't have been noticeable to many of the others – he had grown pretty good at keeping his feelings under wraps during his years as a Marine, as well as with the club – but she had spent enough time with him now to know when something wasn't right. She didn't like it.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, and he immediately became aware of the way he was acting, relaxing back into the plush sofa in an attempt to appear more at ease. He took a sip of his drink and shook his head, taking her hand in his.

"Nothing."

She leaned closer to him, running her fingers back through his wild curls in a way she knew calmed him; but the second he realized she was just trying to get a better read on him, he took her hand away. She frowned at him, feeling embarrassed to have possible witnesses to his sudden rejection. First time for everything. Seeing her lapse into trouble thoughts, he took her hand and gave it a brief squeeze, but refused to meet her gaze. Something was up.

Jax approached them now carrying Abel, a big, content smile on his face as he looked down into the face of the next generation of Tellers. He looked at Alice.

"Everyone's had a hold, thought you might like to as well."

"Of course I would."

After everything he had seen her do, after everything he knew she was capable of, he still felt nothing but trust for the mercenary as she took his firstborn son. She smiled down at the baby, gently running a finger along his cheek as he gazed at her, cooing.

"Baby Teller. Looks like Half-Sack's got some competition for being the baby-face of the club," she said. Jax chuckled and glanced at Tig, who was watching her steadily. Feeling his gaze, Alice turned to him, rocking Abel gently. "Just think," she said to him, "We're one forgotten pill away from a little homecoming of our own."

Jax bit back a smirk as Tig dragged a hand over his face, but he had to admit, as early as it was for the strange pair, there was something oddly comfortable in the way Tig sat against her, looking down over her shoulder as he gently tickled Abel's belly. He moved back to his own seat on the adjacent sofa and a tipsy-looking Tara was quick to take a seat on the arm beside him, swooping in for a quick kiss in front of his ex; staking her territory. Alice watched the irritated look cross Jax's face as Wendy's expression fell. He was soon on his feet again, leading Tara away for a little chat.

"Hey," Alice said to Wendy, hoping to distract her from the scene that the doctor had just put on. "He's beautiful." Wendy looked over at her son and forced a smile, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Thank-you."

Alice offered her a reassuring look and felt Tig's hand in the small of her back. The warmth of the moment had her the most comfortable she had been in days, and she found herself wishing that Juice would hurry back with the coffee as her eyelids started to droop.

"You know what I call this?" Chibs said, appearing in front of them now, looking a few too many beers into the night, "One broken condom away from being a reality." He plonked himself down into Juice's vacant seat as Alice laughed, pulling Abel a little closer to her body, away from the drunken Scot. Tig threw his brother a hard look for the joke and took a long sip of his drink; it wasn't something he wanted to even think about right now.

"You're talking to me again?" Alice asked the Scotsman, with a smirk. He fought to keep from rolling his eyes, and she took that as a friendly enough sign.

"In all honesty," he slurred, "You bloody terrify me. I'm starting to think it may be smarter to stay on yer good side."

She chuckled at him. "You're drunk, Chibby boy."

"Aye, you might be right about that, lass."

Jax soon reappeared, his left cheek sporting the obvious red mark of a slap. Tara came by behind him, pushing passed Juice in the kitchen to grab her handbag before storming out the front door. Jax sighed and looked at his younger club brother.

"Do me a favor and make sure Tara gets home safe, okay?"

Juice raised his brows but gave a nod, gesturing with the coffee in his hand that he would just be a minute.

"Where are you off too?" Alice asked, passing Abel back to Gemma for his feeding before accepting the steaming mug.

"Just gotta do something for Jax."

"You good to ride?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, noting the sleepy look in his eyes. He grabbed the hand holding the mug and pulled it towards his mouth, taking a sip of the hot coffee, stepping back with a silly grin.

"Yeah, fine."

"Very funny. Be safe, yeah?"

He gave her a wave over his shoulder as he approached the front door. Watching him go, she took a sip of the scalding liquid and noticed Opie and Donna saying their farewells, too; it was getting a little past the kids' bedtime. Settling back onto the couch, Alice looked at Tig, but he had gotten that distracted look in his eyes again. She fought the urge to ask him if he was okay, knowing he would just lie again, and so instead focused on the party around her. As much as she was certain that she could get just about anything out of the Scotsman with the state he was in, she told herself it would only widen the rift that seemed to have settled between them. He had offered her a tiny white flag in his moment of inebriation, and she could only hope he still remembered it in the morning.

It wasn't long after Opie and Donna had left with their kids that Tig got to his feet.

"Where are you off to?" Alice asked with a playfully suspicious frown.

"Forgot I got some club stuff to take care of."

Her frown deepened with genuine concern. Noticing this, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a quick, affectionate squeeze, though his face remained expressionless.

"Okay," she told him, not sounding particularly convinced by his tone, "You want to head back to mine later?" Even though she knew with the state she was in all they'd likely be doing was sleeping, she was starting to get used to waking up to him in the morning.

"Nah, not tonight, baby," came his hollow reply.

"Alright. Hey," she leaned forward in her seat and tapped his hand, drawing his attention back around. "Ride safe, yeah?"

"Always." His empty tone left her wanting as she watched him walk away. Something just didn't seem right.

"Hey, Frankie," Gemma called over to her as she fed able, standing beside an attractive, older blonde around the same age. She nodded for her to come over, but Alice noticed Wendy glance over upon hearing the name.

"Nickname," she explained simply, and the other woman nodded, brow still slightly furrowed.

"This is Luann Delaney," Gemma introduced, and Alice stuck out her hand, quickly accepted by the older woman.

"Oh, Otto's wife, right?"

"That's right. How'd you know?"

"I've heard a little about you."

"Oh. About the porn, right?" she asked, feeling in the clear now that the children were gone. Alice glanced at Gemma, who was smirking, then back at Luann.

"Porn?"

"Luann runs her own porn studio," Gemma explained. "Hey, maybe you can tell her a few stories about you and Happy. Sure she'd have a field day picking pieces out of that."

Not sure if Gemma was fucking with her, or making a genuine suggestion, Alice was quickly saved by Luann's own enthusiasm on the subject.

"You've fucked Happy? What's that like?"

Alice's eyebrows shot up, and she couldn't help but smile. Happy was quite the sexual enigma in this circle it seemed. But before Luann could even start in with the questions, she felt her cell begin to vibrate. She excused herself and stepped into an unoccupied room down the hall to answer it.

"Coop, it's Bell. I've got the details on that witness you asked about."

"About time. What the hell took so long?"

"Few firewalls I had to get by. That Agent Stahl seemed to think the information needed a little more protection than usual. You guys must have really made an impression."

"Otto sure did."

"What?"

"Nothing. Hey, thanks for your help. I'll make sure that money gets wired through tomorrow. Quick question. Witness last name. Winston?"

"Nope. Michaels."

She felt relief flood through her. Finally, some good news for Jax.

"Awesome. I'll talk to you later."

"No worries, Coop. Until then."

Alice smiled and huffed out a sigh, then everything seemed to hit her all at once. Tig's odd behavior. Jax saying that Clay still seemed unconvinced about Opie's innocence. Tig's sudden departure…not long after Opie and Donna had left.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." She moved quickly back out towards the party, trying to downplay the sudden panic she was feeling. She tapped Chibs on the shoulder and he looked up. "You seen Clay?"

"Last I saw, he was heading out the door."

"Thanks."

She found him out the front and spotted Unser getting into his police car just as the MC president got off his phone. The expression on his face said it all. He knew that Opie wasn't the rat. But the news had come too late to stop it.

As he turned to walk back to the house, he found Alice standing on the steps. She just stared at him.

"What did you do?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Here's to the longest chapter yet! I gotta ask, just for readability's sake, how are we liking the chapter lengths? My average is between 5000-6500 a chapter, so just wanting to check is that too long? Do you guys like longer chapters? I had to find a good place to cut this one off before I got too carried away. A very important event in the series, and one that I think sparks the beginning of a lot of trouble that carries on all the way through the entire series; sort of like violent butterfly effect. I'll always try to break the darkness up with a bit of humor, though. So what do we think? Is it Alice's fault they pegged Opie as the rat? Does this mean the consequences afterwards are on her too? And how will she and Tig cope in the aftermath?_

 _Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

 _Quick reply to a guest review: I completely agree – Frankie should have put the men in their place when it came to the stuff with the CIA. I recently read a book called 'No Angel', about an ATF agent who went undercover in the Hells Angels – super interesting read, by the way – and I like the way the author put it: the clubs don't want to be hassled by the law, but at the same time not being hassled is almost an insult. Clay would want to think that the MC is interesting enough to warrant the attention of people like the CIA; not that he would actually really want said attention – things are bad enough for them with the ATF as it is._


	14. Chapter 14: The Fallout

_**Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

 _ **Chapter Soundtrack:**_ _Gimme Shelter –_ The Rolling Stones  
 _Hurt –_ Nine Inch Nails

* * *

 **THE FALLOUT**

When the news finally reached them, the gravity of the mistake became all too clear. Opie had made it home with the kids; Donna had been involved in an accident. Her thoughts only on Tig, Alice followed the men out to the scene, heart thumping in her chest, stomach wrenching at the thought of what her simple suggestion had wrought for the Winston family. She hung back on her bike as she watched Opie race to his wife's side; Donna's body lying limp and bloody on the street. Emergency services were already in attending, with paramedics looking on as the grieving husband drew his dead wife up into his arms and sobbed. There were cops all around; the only witness a man out walking his dog. A black SUV had rolled up behind the truck and taken the shot from behind. Tig couldn't have known. Donna was a casualty in a war she had never been a part of.

Watching Tig now, Alice saw the lost look in his eyes. He didn't kill women. That brutality was set aside for men, and men alone. Donna hadn't deserved this, but that didn't change the fact that her children were now without a mother; that an innocent man was without the love of his life, the one thing that had kept him balanced within the turmoil of his outlaw biker life. She fought the urge to go to him, knowing how much the mistake would be eating him up inside, despite how well he appeared to be holding it together. He couldn't show any sign of guilt. This indiscretion was between him and Clay – if any of the others where to even catch a whiff of the truth, it would tear their club apart.

Alice looked over at the president as he reaped the emotional consequences of his fatal mistake. She got off her bike as she saw Juice heading her way, and he pulled her into a hug. He held her tight, her embrace reassuring him. He pulled back and looked down at her, grateful to have her alive in his arms; his girl was still safe. They turned to look back at the scene before them.

"Has Clay said anything about what happened?" she asked him quietly.

"Retaliation," he replied, voice thick, "It had to be. They must have recognized the truck, thought it was Opie."

Yeah, just a simple case of mistaken identity. She glanced over at Clay again, but he was busy playing the part of undeniable innocence. He was a great actor, she'd give him that. As Jax pulled Opie away, Alice watched him throw his step-father a look of pure contempt. Whether it was because he knew the truth, or he was simply tired of his president's poor judgement, she couldn't tell; but, as if a crack had opened up in the ground between the two men, she saw the beginnings of civil conflict, and could only hope it didn't escalate. Tig was a major party to all of this; she knew she couldn't stand by and watch him cop the blame. He was simply loyal to a man who cared more about an end than he did about the means in which it was brought about; no matter whose life he destroyed in the process.

A black sedan rolled up to the scene, lights flashing as it drew to a halt. Agent Stahl stepped out and took in the scene around her. This was on her and from the look on her face, she knew it. By pegging Opie as the rat, she had started a bloody chain reaction that had culminated in the murder of an innocent mother. Alice fought the urge to confront her, knowing it was driven by her own guilt. Stahl had made it all so convincing that even she had fallen for it, and in doing so had planted the seed of doubt in the minds of all the men in SAMCRO. A little part of her took the blame for this, too.

They moved out a little while later, leaving the EMTs and officers to do their jobs.

"Where you going?" Alice asked Juice, as he made for his bike looking just as lost as the others.

"Probably gonna head back to the clubhouse. Hang around in case anyone needs anything."

She nodded. She knew she should go with him, make sure he was alright, but she felt the weight of Tig's sudden departure all the more. He had been one of the first to leave – not able to face his part in another brother's anguish any longer. She didn't want to leave him alone, not knowing what he might do; what guilty actions his demons might drive him to.

"I'll, uh, I'll try to come by after," she told him, knowing already that it was a lie.

"Where are you going?" he frowned, the expression gentler than usual in light of his grief; but he already knew. Had he given it much more thought, he could have pieced it together himself – he had, after all, been the one to show them the wire transfers; that damning piece of evidence that had set this all off – but his mind wouldn't allow him to consider the possibility of his own brothers having a hand in this.

"I've got something I need to take care of," she replied, and he just nodded, appearing in a slight daze. He watched as she got on her bike, eyes trailing after her as she took off into the night.

* * *

Tig was already home by the time she arrived at his house, but she had the feeling he wouldn't be in the mood for company. She had witnessed him in violent situations before, but never something like this. She had no idea what might greet her on the other side of that door. She raised an unsteady hand to the doorbell and paused. Reaching into her bag, she drew out her lock pick set instead, and quietly let herself in. The house was dark, save for a faint glow from down the hallway, off towards the master bedroom. The second she heard the shattering of glass, she picked up her pace.

Tig stood in front of the bathroom mirror, blood trickling down the side of his face from the cut on his forehead, the glass before him splintered into dozens of tiny cobwebbed cracks where he had struck it. He barely seemed to register the creak of the bedroom door as she stepped inside. She was by his side in seconds, turning him away from the broken mess.

"Oh, Alex, what have you done to yourself?"

His blank, blue eyes remained unfocused for a moment, then finally met her worried gaze.

"You shouldn't be here, baby."

Her eyes searched his, expression growing stern as she took his hands. She led him out to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed, disappearing for a moment to collect a cloth to clean him up. While she ran it under warm water, she bowed her head. He was blaming himself for this – a freak accident that had come about from an unfortunate chain of events. He had executed the hit, but none of this was on him.

She knelt down in front of him and silently got to work wiping away the blood and blotting at his cuts. As tears began to roll down his face, she set aside the cloth and took his face in her hands, kissing away the wet streaks on his cheeks.

"This is me," he was muttering to her, "This is all on me. I, I couldn't look him in the eye when I did it, baby."

"It's okay," she soothed.

"No. I, I killed an innocent woman tonight. Oh, those poor kids…"

His face fell into his hands as his body began to shake with sobs. She pulled him close and held him for a moment, fighting to keep her body language calm and comforting as rage boiled inside her; rage at Clay's impatience, that he had put this on Tig.

"You should go," she heard him say after a while, as he wiped at his eyes. She pulled back to look at him, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. When he finally did, she could see the pain forcing his words. He didn't deserve the comfort of a good woman – not now, not when one of his brothers was going home to a cold, empty bed because of him. He didn't deserve a goddamn thing. "You should go," he repeated, looking more convinced, pulling away from her touch, pushing her back as his eyes flicked around, trying to settle on anything but her. "Go on. Get out of here."

There was a touch of anger to his voice as he ordered her out, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. He needed some space; he needed to wallow in this despair on his own. She got to her feet, knowing this simple decision could make or break the potential for any future they might have together.

He heard the click of the door as it closed behind her and dropped his face back into his hands as the surrounding silence began to engulf him once more. He was a fucking coward. If he'd had the guts to look his brother in the eye when he pulled that trigger, he could have avoided this whole damn mess. Alice didn't deserve to take on any of that. He wouldn't let her. He sighed deeply; two good women he had forced out of his life, neither of them deserving of any of it. He sat up, expecting to be greeted with a cold, empty room, but there she was; leaning back against the door as she gazed over at him. Relief flooded through him. That click of the door had been like a punch to the gut. He had really thought he had lost her.

Gazing at her now, seeing a glint of tears in her eyes - that shared anguish - he felt overwhelming gratitude, and tears began to spill once more. She moved back by his side, this time taking a seat next to him on the bed, and with a determined glint in her eyes, she threw an arm around his shoulders and said, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

She sat back against the headboard of his bed now, gently running her fingers through his hair as he slept resting his head on her lap. Her expression was blank as she stared off into the darkness. It had taken a little convincing, but she had managed to talk him into taking a couple of the Valium that she kept in her handbag, knowing there was no way he would get any sleep otherwise. He needed it right now, that blissful nothingness that sleep granted; she only hoped he wouldn't dream. She had considered taking some herself, something she often did after a particularly bad job, when the insomnia was at its worst, but had ultimately decided that someone ought to remain alert; especially in the wake of all that had happened. Careful not to disturb him, she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her cell, dialing Juice's number.

" _Hey_ ," he answered, voice still thick with emotion. She felt immediate guilt for not going back to the clubhouse with him, knowing he needed her, too. She looked down at Tig, fingers still gently stroking his cheek, and felt some of that guilt replaced by a reassuring affection.

"Hey, Juicy. How you holding up?"

" _I'm okay_ ," he replied, his voice suggesting otherwise. " _Where are you?_ "

"I'm with Tig," she replied, not bothering to hide what she knew he already knew. The brief pause on the other end of the line confirmed her own troubled thoughts; she had chosen Tig over him. She didn't wait to let that thought settle too long. "You at the clubhouse? You with someone?"

" _Yeah, just having a drink with Chibs_ ," he confirmed. Hearing the the additional pain in his voice over his realization of her decision, she closed her eyes and ran her hand back through her hair. At the loss of her touch, she felt Tig stir. Her hand went back to him and his grip around her legs tightened in his sleep.

"Listen, my contact called about that witness," she told him, "When you see Clay tomorrow, tell him I need to have a talk with you all. Make sure it goes down the way it needs to." They couldn't afford another mistake like tonight's.

" _Sure. Yeah, sure, I'll let him know_."Another pause. She could still feel the hesitation in his voice.

"Juicy?"

" _Yeah_?"

"You need anything, you call, okay?"

" _Yeah. Okay_."

Hanging up, she set the phone back down on the stand and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Looking down at the man she had abandoned her best friend for, she found him half-awake. He took her hand away from his head in a gesture that reminded her of his rejection earlier that night, but rather than pull away from her, this time he drew her down closer to him, only settling once her head was resting against his chest. She felt him sigh in a contented sort of way as he let sleep take him once more, and she ran began running her fingers gently along his side, reaching up to where some tears still spilled down his cheeks. She would make this right, she thought. She would find the real witness and take them out, thus destroying whatever hopes Stahl had of bringing down the club. She wouldn't allow that bitch to win. With those thoughts in mind, she closed her eyes and allowed an uneasy sleep to slip over her.

* * *

Tig seemed uncomfortable the following morning as he flitted about getting ready to head back out to the clubhouse. He glanced over at the woman who had witnessed a rare, raw side of him, and felt almost embarrassed to have exposed her to that. Still, even after all of it, she had stayed. He had gotten the feeling that if he had tried to force her out – threatened violence, even, in his moment of grief – she would have fought to stay, and he loved her a little for that. Even as he sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots, and she appeared in the doorway brandishing two coffees, he felt undeserving of her devotion. He dragged the heel of his palm around his eye and down his face before resting his head in his hands. Feeling her hand on his shoulder, he looked up. Her small, reassuring smile warmed the cold lump that had settled in the pit of his stomach since waking that morning. She held out one of the mugs.

"How's your head feeling?" she asked, knowing from experience the occasionally nasty side-effects of diazepam. He didn't reply, instead taking the other mug from her and placing them both down on the dresser beside them. He pulled her into a kiss, this one by far the gentlest she had ever experienced from him, the simple action conveying more gratitude than he could ever put into words. When he broke away, pain flashed across his features once more and he turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, as if only just remembering again what he had done the night before.

"Hey. Hey," she said to him, a firmness to her voice as she went to him. She placed one hand against his face and forced him back around to look at her, finding a deeply haunted look occupying his eyes. "Hey!" He finally looked at her. "You gotta buck-up today," she told him, "Keep it together, at least while you're with them. They can't know what happened…" She trailed off, the thought of him reaping the consequences of Clay's decision like cold steel in her belly. He gave a nod, his hands going to his hips as he made an effort to pull himself together. He squeezed his eyes shut as he bowed his head, and when he raised it once more, he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he had that usual look of hardened determination. "I'll meet you down there," she told him, picking up her mug, taking a sip as he threw her a questioning look. "Info on the witness came through," she explained.

"Ah, shit," he said, his resolve quickly fading again under the news, reminded again of his mistake. "When?"

"Last night," she told him solemnly, "Right before…just before it happened."

"Ah, Christ."

"You gotta stop blaming yourself for this, Alex."

"I pulled that goddamn trigger. Like hell if this isn't on me."

"No, you were the goddamn trigger. And Clay was the one holding the gun. He made the judgement call. You were just following orders."

"No, I wasn't. I believed it. I believed Opie was the rat. I…That bitch Stahl had me so convinced."

"Then put this on her. Don't let it fall back on you. You made a mistake."

"Yeah. And Donna's dead because of that mistake." His hand moved back to rub at his eyes again as the weight of that accident settled on his shoulders once more. He knew today was going to be a struggle, but she was right; he couldn't let that guilt show through. If any of the others picked up on even the slightest hint that he had anything to do with Donna's death, he would be a dead man. Though at that moment, he wasn't even sure if he cared.

"You do what you gotta do today," she told him, giving up on the pep talk as he settled back into a comfortable state of self-loathing, hoping for his sake that it would pass. "I'll take care of this witness and you guys will be out of the ATF's crosshairs. Stahl will get hers, too. I guarantee it."

* * *

She waited out on one of the barstools as the Sons commenced their meeting inside the Chapel, knowing they would have more pressing matters to discuss before they could call her in. After about fifteen minutes of tapping her foot anxiously against the chair's leg, she heard one of the heavy, wooden doors creak open. Juice stepped out and with a jerk of his head gestured for her to join them. As she approached, she could tell he hadn't slept; dark circles around his eyes, tears glistening after the heavy first topic of discussion. Her hand went to the side of his face, dropping down to his shoulder and giving it a squeeze as she offered him a reassuring look. She only hoped his sleepless night was because of Donna.

Inside, the Chapel was still and silent. The men's eyes followed her as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. She took up her usual spot and, as if out of increasing habit in this space, folded her arms over her chest. She looked to Clay, who stared back, waiting for her to speak. She considered giving her condolences, but couldn't bring herself to do so; not knowing what had really happened – not with Tig in the room. He didn't need another reminder

"I, uh, I got a call last night. About the eyewitness," she began.

All eyes turned to her then, and she sighed. She had gone over the details back at her house, stopping in after Tig's for a change of clothes and to gather her thoughts. She had memorized the address, as well as the suspect's name and face before deleting the files. This wasn't her first hit on a protected witness, and she knew exactly what she would be dealing with. It would be an easy job as far as getting in went; for everything that came after, she had Frankie.

"Who is it?" Clay asked.

"The details aren't important," she assured them, "I've got a lock on the wit pro house. It's not my first. I know the drill. Bobby and Opie will be free of this shit this time tomorrow."

"God knows he needs something good right now," Chibs said quietly, and the others nodded. "Wit pro, though? That place'll be locked down hard."

"Not gonna be a problem. Like I said, I know the drill. I get in, I get out. No witnesses."

"You're gonna kill them?" Juice asked from the other side of the table, not looking very enthusiastic about the idea of another murder, especially not one committed by her.

"Guy's a rat," Tig reminded him, a tad defensively, "Rats deserve to die. End of story." The younger biker gave a reluctant nod, glancing quickly at his friend; but her expression remained devoid of any emotion.

"The sheriff's and agents they have on babysitting duty will live to see another day," she assured him, "I have my ways of getting around them."

"You sure you can do this?" Clay asked her. The way she looked at him then had them all shifting uncomfortably in their seats. She breathed back the tide of rage that threatened to consume her, and felt her lip twitch as she fought back a sneer.

"You got somebody else you want to try, by all means."

"All I meant was," he replied, not appreciating her tone, "Chibs is right. Wit pro. They're gonna have the place crawling with protection. You gonna do this on your own?"

"Easier that way," she replied, in a way that reminded him eerily of Happy, "I'll let you know when it's done."

She watched Tig shut his eyes, knowing he hated the fact that he hadn't been the one to take the person out; that yet another person had to die before they were in the clear. It should have been a clean job – one person, one hit; done and dusted. Knowing what she did now, Alice wasn't sure the truth would have made things any easier for them.

"Alright. Once that's done, you meet back here. We'll have some of your money for you. No doubt that debt will increase after this."

"No hurry," she assured them, knowing they would be funneling all their free cash at that moment into Donna's funeral. He gave a grateful nod for her understanding, effectively bringing her part in the meeting to a close. She threw Jax and apologetic look before she turned to leave, and he frowned, unsure what it had been for; she had come through on her end. That niggling suspicion that had been sitting in the back of his mind since the previous night quickly latched onto it, though, feeding off the suggestive glance. He turned back to his president as the door creaked closed behind their guest, and as his thoughts began to wander, that doubt began to grow.

* * *

It was close to five by the time she arrived in the rundown neighborhood, around the time Bell had told her the witness details were due to be released. She knew she didn't have long after that to get the job done; the ATF were presenting their case almost immediately after, and once they were done, Opie and Bobby would be placed in a line up to be picked out by the witness. Tonight was the night.

Parking a few streets down from the target's current residence, she took a moment to survey the surrounding area, tying her half-skull kerchief over the bottom half of her face before slipping on her dark aviators; in doing so, slipping back into her old alter-ego – she was going to need her for this one. She had borrowed an old, beat-up, brown sedan for the night, swapping the number plates out for one of the spare sets she kept in her warehouse – usually ones she took from some of the wrecks at the junkyard. Glancing over at the property, she spotted a cop car out the front – two of the sheriff's tasked with guard duty leaning back against the vehicle, arms folded as they chatted happily away.

Going to the trunk of the car, she opened it to reveal the small collection of weapons she had armed herself with for the hit. She picked up the scoped rifle and checked that it was loaded before sitting the barrel on top of the open trunk. She lined up the sight on one of the officers, pausing before taking the shot. He clapped a hand to his neck as if he had just been bitten by a mosquito, then quickly collapsed to the ground, opening up a shot on his partner before the man could even recognize the dart sticking out of his unconscious buddy. Once they were both down, she patiently waited. Sure enough, a third man came running from the front door upon seeing his brothers fall, gun raised in no particular direction, looking around for the invisible enemy. Before he could call in the incident, she took her third shot, hitting him just below the jaw. His hand went to his throat, coming away as if he expected to see blood from a gunshot wound, but he almost looked surprised as he fell unconscious to the pavement. Frankie placed the rifle back in her trunk and picked up a silenced pistol, duct tape and a needle.

On her way to the front door, she paused to remove the darts with leather-gloved fingers, and to bind their hands and feet. She knew they would still be out for a couple of hours but wasn't willing to take any chances. Sitting them back against the side of the vehicle, away from the view of the surrounding street, she moved with purpose towards the front door, and took out her needle, uncapping it. She knocked three times on the door and flattened herself back against the wall out of view. A middle-aged female agent opened it, spotting the three men over by the car.

"Oh my god." Before she could pick up her radio, Frankie was on her, needle pushed into her neck before the woman could so much as blink. Once she had collapsed back in her arms, Frankie gave a relieved sigh – so far so good – and dragged her back into the house, nudging the door closed behind her. She gave the agent the same treatment as the men out the front and left her on the living room couch before moving to seek out her target. They were staying in a room of the main living area, with nothing but a curtain to hide behind. With the switch flipped entirely, Frankie took out her silenced pistol and stared the witness down, ignoring their sobs as they clutched their pillow and cowered on the bed.

"Sorry about this, sweetheart."

"No!"

The gunshot cut them off, blood and brain matter splattering the white walls behind them. Frankie remained still for a moment, gun still raised, then slowly lowered it. She felt sick. She never felt sick on a job. Fighting back a growing flood of terror at what she had done, she moved swiftly back through the house, towards her beat-up sedan, and fled the scene of her latest murder.

* * *

Juice was seated at the bar, staring at his laptop, mind distracted with thoughts of Alice. In a lot of ways he regretted bringing her into this part of his life, even if it was what she did for a living. It was because of them that she had been both witness and party to what he considered horrible acts of violence over the past few weeks, and he would hate to think she would ever allow herself to get to the point where it didn't at least affect her in some way anymore. Trying to focus on the words on the screen in front of him, he found himself reading over the same paragraph for the third time and gave up, turning his attention to the men around him as he took a mouthful of beer. They all appeared just as anxious as he was, awaiting news of a successful job from their female accomplice, no doubt in any of their minds that she could get it done. Still, if anything did go wrong and she did get taken down…He didn't even want to think about it. He glanced over at Tig, who sat nearby on one of the old, worn couches, one arm draped over the side as he stared into space and took the occasional sip from his bottle.

A beep from his computer drew his attention back to the screen and he checked the time. Five o'clock. The witness info had just been released. His fingers hovered over the keyboard; did he really want to look into the face of the person his friend was about to murder in cold blood? He sighed; curiosity won over. He clicked the file. Dread washed over him like a bucket of cold water.

"What's the matter?" Jax asked him, noticing his expression as he stepped out of the Chapel with Clay. The others looked over, expecting some sort of news about the hit. Juice just shook his head, paling as he considered what he was about to tell them.

"The info on that witness just came out," he said, glancing around at each of them, "She's a seventeen year-old girl."

"Jesus Christ," Chibs muttered from over by the pool table, leaning back against it as he clutched his cue. He shook his head solemnly. Tig ran a hand back through his hair. He didn't want to think about it.

Jax stared at the newsbearer and bowed his head. "See if you can get her on the phone," he said when he looked up again. "When did she leave?"

"She's probably already there, man," Juice replied, a hopeless undertone to his voice.

Making a face as if his hands were tied on the matter, Jax took off his kutte and pulled out his sidearm, checking that it was loaded. Shoving it into the back of his pants, covering it with his SOA hoodie, he made a beeline for the door. None of the others considered stopping him, the information still sinking in; none of them except for Clay.

"Where are you going?" he called to him, but his stepson ignored him. "Jax!"

But just as Jax reached the front door, it opened. Alice stepped in and looked around at them. The moment they saw the cold, empty look in her eyes, they knew it was too late.

"It's done," she told them, voice steady.

Tig stared at her a moment, eyes blank, then looked away. Chibs shut his eyes, muttering curses under his breath, throwing in a prayer for the young girl's soul. Clay stared at her, unsure what to say. He couldn't say he was disappointed. The club had needed this and she had come through. He disappeared for a moment back into the Chapel to collect her promised payment. She glanced at Jax, and he just stared at her. There was nothing to say. They had put this on her and somehow she had managed to come through. He tensed his jaw at the thought of the death of yet another innocent, and her eyes left him to move to Juice. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Clay reappeared carrying a thick envelope, but she waved him off. He paused, looking confused. They watched her staring at Juice, and as the boy continued with his refusal to look at her, she just nodded her head. With a dejected look, she turned back towards the door, and stalked out into the night.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _You know, the reason I liked the idea of pairing up Alice with Juice on a platonic level, was because of the contrast between the two. I wanted to play with the idea of this innocent biker kid forced commit violent acts for his club, versus someone who actually chooses to do them, maybe even enjoys them on some level. Now that Juice has seen what Alice is capable of (or at least what Frankie is) I think we'll start to see more of a strain on their relationship. I wouldn't say it was easy for Alice to kill the girl, but she wasn't falling apart with guilt like Juice would have been, had he even been able to pull the trigger to begin with. I think, in a way, Alice sees herself beyond the point of no return, and like she said to Tig, she never wanted to bring Juice into her world because she was worried he couldn't handle that. I guess we'll find that out in the next chapter._

 _I've decided to try something new with the 'chapter soundtrack' bit. I've noticed a few other writers on here do it, and since I tend to listen to certain music to get into the right headspace for some scenes, especially emotional ones, I figured I'd put a few in here. I'm sure I'll still be mentioning Frankie's tunes in the story, but I guess I could always put them at the top too._ Gimme Shelter _, I think, is a good song for the fallout of Donna's accident. And_ Hurt _reflects on Juice and Alice's relationship, as well as Alice's often self-destructive relationship with herself. I particularly like the line '_ What have I become, my sweetest friend?' _I think it touches on one of the biggest issues between the two of them._

 _Hope you guys enjoyed. I knocked this out today fairly quickly after wondering what the hell I was going to do for it – (most of my writing is winged, with main plot points as the pit stops) – so I hope I came through on this one. As usual, thank-you to all those who review (though I wouldn't mind a few more, haha) and thanks for reading!_


	15. Chapter 15: Revelations

_**I had the**_ **worst** _ **writer's block for this chapter. I rewrote so many parts over and over, but I just couldn't seem to get it right, and it still feels a little messy to me. There were so many conversations to get through and my muse was just not cooperating. Apologies in advance if this one feels forced, but I really just wanted to get through it because, guess what? We have arrived at season two! I am so excited to have made it this far, and I appreciate each and every person who has followed, favorited and reviewed. You help keep my muse content, even when they are throwing little tantrums. Enjoy, and I look forward to reading your feedback!**_

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **REVELATIONS**

Alice stood in front of Tig, doing up the last of the buttons on his shirt as they finished preparing for Donna's funeral. He had arrived home the night before to find her Ducati parked out the front of his house, discovering the rider herself seated at his kitchen bench nursing a glass of whiskey with a sullen expression. Asking her how she had gotten in, she had simply replied, 'Picked the locks', eyes focused on the countertop as she battled with her ghosts; both old and new.

He hadn't been in the best shape himself. Jax had gotten intel from someone – he could only guess Unser or Hale, since he knew none of his brothers would ever openly accuse him and Clay like that – and as if the boy's long-running suspicions had finally been confirmed, he had led Tig out to the garage on the premise of 'needing to talk'. What had ensued was the beat down Tig knew he'd had coming. With each blow to the face, each fist that threatened to break a rib, he felt relief that he hadn't gotten away with it; he was finally getting some of the punishment he felt he deserved. Still, after they had managed to tear themselves apart from one another – Jax sporting a split lip, from the brief moment Tig had actually fought back – Tig still hadn't felt like it was enough. There was no amount of physical pain that could cure him of his guilt.

Pulling Alice away from the liquor, ignoring the looks she had given him for his bruised and broken face, he had led her upstairs, where they had literally fallen into bed together; both of them exhausted after a day spent pretending to be okay. With both of them in need of some serious release, it hadn't taken long for the clothes to come off, but there was something different about the sex this time and they had both felt it. It was raw, unrestrained, like they had both let their guards down for a moment and really allowed themselves to feel; and as they lay together afterwards, they fought to figure out what had just happened. There was something new there after the fallout from Donna's death; something that was hard to pin down.

Doing up the last button, Alice's actions slowed, a look of dawning horror on her face as she suddenly figured it out. They were no longer in fuck-buddy territory. She had somehow managed to follow him into this new, unknown terrain without even realizing it, and now here she was; preening over him like she was his goddamn Old Lady. Tig glanced down at her, realizing she had stopped, and she glanced up, praying there was nothing incriminating on her face. She caught his expression and froze.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied, smile morphing into a teasing grin. Goddamn it, he knew.

She felt like she had fallen for some kind of trick. Someone finally had the upper hand on her and she had no idea how to remedy it – or if she even wanted to; she couldn't exactly say it was an unpleasant feeling, she just hated losing sight of the situation like that. She sighed, her eyes going to the cuts and bruises scattered over his face, as she slid her hands down his chest. She forced the cluster of confused feelings out of her mind, eager for a change of subject, and focused instead on the other pressing issue on her mind. Juice. Every time her mind went back to him at the bar, the way he refused to look at her, she felt her heart break just a little more. She already felt like she had lost him.

"I don't know what to do about Juice, man. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. God, he wouldn't even look at me."

"Fuck him."

"You know, that would probably help."

"Very funny. He's just gonna have to grow a dick and get over it," Tig replied, already sick of talking about the younger man, "Because of you, Opie stays free, and Bobby gets out. If you hadn't done it, it would have been one of us. You probably just pulled it off with more…'finesse'."

"As opposed to the old 'smash and grab'?" she joked, unable to muster much humor to her voice.

"Exactly."

"Would you have done it?"

He stared at her for a moment, and she could see him battling his own self-doubt.

"After the shit with Opie, yeah. That shit would have been on me to make right. Should have been on me. Not you."

She hadn't failed to notice his inability to mention Donna's name. The hit had flipped something in him, alright, but it wasn't for the better.

"Well, it's done now. No point beating myself up over it. I'll just have to have to find a way to make Juice see it that way, too."

"Yeah," Tig replied absent-mindedly, not failing to pick up on the double meaning of her words.

She reached up and traced a fingertip below the cut on his forehead; his one self-inflicted wound.

"So Jax knows, huh?"

"Looks that way." He bowed his head briefly as she lowered her hand back to her side. Glancing back up at her, he found her eyes searching his carefully.

"Christ. This is bad," she realized.

"You don't gotta worry about nothing, sweetheart. He's not gonna say anything. I know Jax, and he knows the club. He says shit, the club'll tear itself apart. He's not going to let that happen. He wouldn't do that to Ope."

"Yeah, but I'm more worried about them tearing you apart."

She gazed at him with a worried frown, and he smiled down at her, genuine affection in his eyes.

"I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself. And if that ever happens to not be the case, I know I've got a crazy-ass mercenary to back me up," he said, looping his arms around her neck.

She smiled at the notion. "You're damn right you do." He chuckled and leaned down for a quick kiss.

Turning away, Alice approached the room's full-length mirror to inspect her outfit. It had been a long time since she'd found an occasion to wear a dress, and the feel of the free-flowing fabric against her legs, as opposed to the usual encasement of denim, was a welcome sensation. With her back to him now, Tig took the opportunity to hug her from behind, drawing her back against him. She smiled again, her hands going to his as they wrapped around her waist, fingertips brushing over the cold, smooth metal of his rings. He brushed her hair back behind her ear and began kissing down her neck, smirking as he heard her sigh, her head falling back against his shoulder. She was too easy. He snaked a hand down the front of her dress as he felt her surrender to his touch. Cupping one of her breasts, rolling a fingertip over her nipple, he slipped the other hand under the bottom on her skirt and played with the hem of her underwear, teasing her with the prospect of more pleasure.

She groaned as his fingers finally moved to her clit. "We can't. We have to go soon," she said, voice breathy, turning her head to look at him over his shoulder, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He smiled at the effect he always had on her.

"I know. I just like hearing you moan for me." He slipped a finger inside her as he said this, and her sounds grew louder in response, her body melting back against his, hips rocking in an attempt to gain a better angle. He chuckled at her eagerness, using her momentum to his advantage as he pressed his hard-on against her ass.

It felt so wrong, fooling around when they were supposed to be getting ready for a funeral, but she reminded herself that he needed the distraction; the rest of the day was going to be hard enough to get through as it was. Fighting the urge to push him back onto the bed and risk rocking up late to the main procession, she pulled his hand away, smirking as he raised the finger towards his mouth. She caught him by the wrist and brought it to her mouth instead. He watched her with greedy eyes as she licked the digit clean, then pulled her in for a deep kiss, gripping her on either side of the head.

"You make me so fucking hard, baby," he told her, pulling back to gaze down at her.

"I know," she replied with a smirk, before moving back to straighten herself up. He remained where he was for a moment, one hand on his hip, the other resting thoughtfully against his chin as he ran his finger along his lips, the scent of her still lingering. He closed his eyes, enjoying the brief moment of self-indulgence before he felt her hand slip into his. She pulled him towards the door.

"Come on, let's just get through this. Then I'm all yours. Promise." She drew their clasped hands to her mouth and kissed his fingers, this time with more affection than eroticism, and the gesture had him smiling again. If anything was going to be able to help him get through today, it was her.

* * *

The ride itself was much more sobering. Without Alice by his side, all Tig had to think about was his responsibility for the whole occasion; how only a few dozen feet behind him was the body of the woman he had gunned down. He tried to focus his thoughts on the road, fighting to keep the image of Donna's bleeding body slumped over her steering wheel from flashing into his mind, and thought instead of the way it felt when Alice ran her fingers back through his wild, curly hair; how with the slightest of touches she somehow always managed to calm him down.

As Clay had promised, there was a good-sized turnout. Dozens of men from other charters had all shown to pay their respects for the fallen Old Lady; yet another soul lost to the life. Arriving at the burial site, Alice wasn't quite sure whether to sit or stand. All of the wives and girlfriends were seated at the front of the gathering; rows of short, lacy black dresses, painted faces running with tears. Spotting Juice, she saw an opening beside him and drew a deep breath as she made her decision. He met her gaze as she approached, eyes filled with a sadness that she was sure wasn't just for Donna, and she silently slipped into the open space. She noticed the kutte he was holding, unsure who it belonged to since those present all appeared to be wearing theirs, and it wasn't until she saw the way he was twisting the leather that she realized how much her presence was affecting him. She had wanted to be by Tig's side for all of this, to remind him he didn't have to deal with it alone, but somehow fate had placed her next to her abandoned friend. She took it as a sign. Without a word, keeping her gaze trained forward, she slipped her fingers around his wrist and he ceased his anxious movements, relaxing under her touch.

Jax arrived midway through the proceedings, still sporting the bloodied lip courtesy of his scrap with Tig, looking completely underdressed in his oversized, white t-shirt and baggy jeans; grubby and creased as though he had slept in them. Tara rose from her seat and took the kutte from Juice, moving off to greet him. Silent, not bothering to apologize or give excuses for his absence, he accepted his leather, allowing his girl to help him into it, then moved towards the grave. The others watched curiously as he plucked up the last remaining blue flower from the ground, breathed in its sweet, earthy scent, and placed it gently on top of the others on the coffin. The look he threw at Tig and his stepfather then spoke volumes to those who knew the truth of Donna's demise, and in that moment a cold fear settled in their hearts. This wasn't over; this betrayal didn't die with her.

* * *

The reception was held at the clubhouse afterwards, and wasn't far off the standard MC party, with the free-flowing booze and regular amount of croweaters and sweetbutts hanging around; though the mood was far more somber. Alice wasn't sure if she had ever seen it this quiet before. Everything seemed so still, despite the warm, supportive vibe amongst the MC family. Voices were hushed and sympathetic, a far cry from the usual rowdy, raucous energy, and there was far less bravado on display amongst the men. For a group of outlaw bikers, it was a deeply respectful occasion.

Seated beside Tig on one of the old, worn couches, Alice observed the crowd as she sipped her beer, one hand resting on his thigh. Tig had passed on the beer for once, snatching a full bottle of whiskey that he had every intention of finishing by himself before the night was through. They didn't speak much, her presence being all he needed in that moment to keep himself sane. He moved his hand to rest on top of hers and gave it a squeeze of silent gratitude. Spotting Juice alone by the bar, Alice saw her opportunity. She downed the remainder of her drink, giving herself an excuse to leave, and turned to Tig. "I'll be back in a sec, okay?"

It took him a moment to respond, a distant look in his sad, blue eyes. "Yeah, doll." Sensing his mood, she hesitated, but he had already retreated back into whatever land he went to bask in his own self-hatred. She got to her feet and headed over to her friend.

Leaning up against the counter, she requested another beer from one of the girls working behind it. The bar was busier than ever, with everyone out to drown their sorrows – funeral-related or otherwise. Juice didn't look at her for a moment, lost in his own gloom, then she reached up to give his shoulder a squeeze to grab his attention. She felt him flinch under her touch, as if coming out of a trance. When he finally looked up, she offered a small, comforting smile.

"Free to talk?" she asked.

"Now?"

The bartender placed her drink on the counter, glancing between the two of them before her attention was drawn to another waiting patron at the opposite end of the bar. Alice didn't reply. She knew it wasn't the best time to bring this up – it felt so inappropriate given the circumstances – but she knew the longer she let that wound between them fester, the harder it would be to heal. She had been tempted to leave it alone altogether – to let him get over it in his own time – but the fear of him simply giving up on her instead had driven her to opt for a confrontation. She glanced over at Tig, but he held the same look on his face as before, taking the occasional swig from his claimed bottle. He had settled into his self-loathing for the night; he wasn't going anywhere. Looking back at Juice, feeling the judgmental undertone to his gaze, she turned to leave, to try again at a better time, but he caught her by the wrist and sighed, fingers slipping down to intertwine with her own. He held onto her for a moment, regarding her steadily, as if the contact was slowly reminding him of old feelings, then finally gave a reluctant nod. They moved off towards his dorm, her hand still clasped in his, and she could only imagine what it must have looked like to those observant enough to notice, grateful Tig was too out of it to bother seeking her out in the crowd.

* * *

They sat in silence for a long time, sipping their drinks, the burden of their various indiscretions weighing down any thoughts they might have voiced. Taking her favored approach, Alice ripped the Band-Aid off in one swift motion and got straight to the point.

"Look, what happened with that girl…"

Looking more dejected than ever, Juice closed his eyes.

"She was seventeen years old, Al," he said, voice low and raspy from the emotional effort of the day.

"She would have put two of your brothers behind bars."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, anyway."

Though she heavily doubted that he would have had anything to do with it, had it come down to that. He was the Intelligence Officer for a reason. He simply didn't have the right disposition for that line of work, and that was becoming more and more obvious to her. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of desperate situation he had found himself in to have earned himself his 'Mayhem' patch.

"Yeah, and it should have been one of us. You should never have been put in that position. It wasn't your shit to deal with."

She gave an empty, humorless chuckle and he frowned.

"I pegged Opie as the rat," she said quietly, "I planted that seed of doubt in all your minds."

"What's that got to do with-"

"It was my mistake to clean up, okay? I found the real witness and I dealt with her. I just didn't want any more innocent people to die because of something I said. Shit." Realizing what she had just divulged, how in so few words she had just implicated the men he had grown to trust, she leaned forward in her seat and rested her face in her hands before running them back through her hair.

"What do you mean?" His mind was racing. The thought had crossed his mind – he had, after all, only added fuel to that fire with his own investigatory efforts, but he wouldn't believe the same men he trusted his life with on a daily basis could be capable of such reckless brutality within their own ranks. They had cleared Opie. They had all seen Clay tell him he was in the clear. This couldn't have been him. That would mean…"Any _more_ people? Are you…Are you talking about Donna? Alice, did you kill Donna?"

"What? No!"

"Oh man," he said, eyes widening as he started to piece it together. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head. "Oh, shit."

She moved from the computer chair to sit beside him on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders as she gazed at him.

"The others can't find out, Juice."

He glanced up at her.

"The shit that would start…"

"It was Tig, wasn't it," he said, with a sharp bitterness to his words. That's why she was so adamant about this. She was protecting him. He felt her arm leave his shoulders and a troubled look crossed her features.

"It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger. It's done."

He scoffed and shook his head, that she would protect the killer of an innocent woman. Given what she had been capable of doing, though, it made sense.

"Juice. Please."

He gazed at her then, hearing the desperation in her voice as she fought to find a way to get him back on her side.

"This is exactly what I was talking about when I said I shouldn't have brought this shit to you. This is what I was worried would happen."

"That what would happen?"

"This! That you wouldn't be able to look at me the same way anymore! It was bad enough you walking in on me at the warehouse. I never meant for you to see that shit."

He stared at her for a moment, mouth opened to respond but unable to find the words.

"You told me the other day that you didn't care, that what I did didn't bother you."

"Is she the youngest?"

"What?"

"Is she the youngest you've killed?"

There was no judgment in his voice, merely a hesitant curiosity, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Alice's eyes shifted uncomfortably as he waited for her reply, the silence implicating her more every second. "Yes," she quickly lied, seeing the disappointment threatening behind his eyes, "Okay? And this one was…different."

"Different how?"

"I told you. Usually I can block it out and get the job done. Usually, when that switch is flipped, I don't feel a goddamn thing when I pull that trigger…But this one got to me, Juice. And I think that was because of you."

He frowned at her again, taking all of this in.

"It was like all I could think about afterwards was how, if you ever found out what I'd done, some of the things I _have_ done…Christ, you would never look at me the same way again. And that's what it feels like right now. You couldn't even look at me last night. That right then, that's when I knew. This life? This all I've got, man. It's way too late for me to turn back now. And if you can't accept that part of me…I don't know what I'll do. I can't have it both ways. I can't go into a job worrying about how I'm going to feel. About how it might make you feel. There's no room for that in this line of work. If I think about it too much, I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. I can't lose you, too."

He sat for a moment, hands resting on his knees, staring evenly at the floor as he considered her words. Over the years he had managed to forgive his brothers for their actions, letting all the horrible, violent shit pass because they were his family; his only family. Only that wasn't quite true. Alice was his family, too. And now here she was pleading for the same forgiveness he had been so quick to bestow upon the same men who had conspired to murder a fellow brother. It was easier to forgive his MC family. The violence had become so familiar, he didn't expect anything less from them. But Alice…It was as if his image of her had shattered since that first meeting at the compound. When he had heard that she had moved to the west coast, part of him had felt relieved, as if he might finally have an escape from the daily brutality his lifestyle wrought; but by bringing her to the attention of the club, he had only managed to make things worse.

"Is this why you're with Tig?" he asked, things finally starting to make sense.

"He's seen a part of me I never wanted you to have to see," she admitted, "And he's okay with it. He knows how this shit goes, you know? Same with Happy. I can be myself with them because we've all grown to accept what we do. Who we are. It's different with you. I just…I feel like I'm only going to disappoint you."

He hated to admit it, but in that moment he felt a sudden competitive surge. Blinded by his own selfish jealousy, he hadn't even realized he was the one pushing her into the arms of another man. Had he been able to accept that side of her sooner, he might have had a chance; but it just wasn't in him to grow used to that kind of violence. He let the weight of that thought sink in for a moment, running a hand back over his shaved Mohawk.

"I love you, Juicy. I do. But this is a big part of who I am. Out of everything you're struggling to get your head around right now – the Tig stuff, the Happy stuff – this is what I need you on board with the most. Because all of this, this is who I am now."

He nodded, deliberating his next move. He didn't have a choice. There was no way he was about to lose her, not after everything they had been through together; all the years they had spent by each other's side. He wouldn't let it come between them. Hell, if he was willing to accept the fact that she was sleeping with a rumored necrophiliac, he could accept that part of her job involved killing people – sometimes indiscriminately. There was some consolation in her confession to feeling uneasy after the hit, as if there was a still a glimmer of hope for him that he hadn't completely lost her to that darkness.

"Okay," he said, finally. She glanced up, eyes quickly scanning his face for the lie.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You're right. I said I was okay with this, so I guess I should be."

"No. This can't be can't be you forcing yourself to be okay with something you're not comfortable with. That isn't going to help. If anything, it'll only make things worse, because you're always gonna be pretending around me, and I don't want things to have to be like that, man. You've gotta just let it go, accept it for what it is, because I can't promise this is the last time I do something like that."

He rubbed at his head once more and sighed, expression thoughtful."I'm going to make sure we never put something like that on you again," he promised.

"You guys didn't put it on me, Juice. I knew what I was dealing with before I got there. I just…I didn't tell anyone. I knew you would try to stop me, and it needed to be done."

He knew she was right. He had to let this slide. It was done. Nothing was going to bring back that girl, and now two of his brothers were free men. The club was out of ATF crosshairs, and they could finally take a breather after the tragedy with Donna, and regroup.

"So that's why you were with Tig that night," he said to her.

"He was a wreck. I couldn't leave him like that."

He nodded, starting to get the picture, dread filling his belly as he readied himself for the answer to his next question. "Are you…You're not, like, in love with him or anything, right?"

Her eyes darted away uncomfortably and she took a deep breath as she considered how to answer that. She still hadn't fully figured that out for herself.

"I dunno, man," she replied, then catching his skeptical expression quickly went on, "I mean, I kind of think maybe he's the one who's caught feelings for me? Guy won't leave me alone. You remember that time he wouldn't stop trying to call me, after the Indian Hills thing?"

"Yeah. We've kind of noticed the way he's been acting around you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's always been weird about women, but with you it's like possessive. The others have been giving him shit for it."

"Really? Christ, between you and him I think I should have just made that deal with Happy," she joked.

"The fact that you even have to refer to it as a 'deal' says a lot."

She grinned at him, her first, real humor-felt gesture since they had first sat down. Part of her prayed that they were past all the negative shit now; that they could go back to the way things had always been. He was supposed to be her ray of sunshine, the one thing that helped guide her through the ever-encroaching darkness her life seemed to bring, and she couldn't stand seeing the threat of more clouds drifting in between them.

"You know I hate this shit, Juicy," she told him, referring to the awkward heart-to-heart, scuffing her toes along the carpet as she stared down at the floor.

"Yeah, I know. Messes with your cold, hard bitch vibe, right?"

She threw him a sarcastic smile then considered him for a moment, and he could see the troubled thoughts raging behind her eyes.

"Maybe it would help if I didn't tell you things. I mean, if we keep it on a kind of 'need to know' basis, so you don't have to deal with all the gory details."

"Nah, I don't want things to have to be like that. I can handle it. And even if I can't, I'll learn to. I want you to be able to talk to me. I don't want that to change. Besides, I'm sure pretty soon you'll be needing someone to talk to, you know, after you've been with Tig a little while longer. Like, if not me, maybe a psychiatrist."

" _Ha ha_ ," she replied. They smiled at each other for a moment, then she moved in for a quick peck on the cheek, his happy expression widening. She was on her feet moments later, brushing the creases from her dress as she moved towards the door, his eyes following after her in a not-entirely-innocent way. She turned back to him leaning in the doorway with a soft smile.

"We good?" she confirmed.

"Yeah," he assured her, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his heart. "We're good."

It was going to take some getting used to, but he would try, if only for her sake.

* * *

Tig was in the same spot she had left him by the time she returned, only this time he wasn't alone. A dark-haired croweater had filled the empty seat beside him and if her behavior was anything to go by, she was more than a little familiar with the biker. She had one arm draped over the back of the couch behind him, and was running the fingers of her other hand up and down the neck of the bottle clutched in his hand, the action more suggestive than anything. Tig didn't seem to be taking much notice, his gaze still distant as he stared ahead. He was completely zoned out, and the woman hadn't even seemed to notice, masking her real goal with the illusion of sympathy. Alice watched for a moment, acknowledging the pang of jealousy she felt seeing him with someone else. This must have been what it felt like for Juice, she realized, and a little wave of guilt washed over her.

Over by the bar, waiting on a refill of his whiskey, Chibs caught sight of her, following her gaze to the pair on the couch. He straightened from the counter, curious to see where this might go. On one hand he knew it might end up his responsibility to break up the possible ensuing catfight, but observing Alice's calm, curious expression, he didn't feel any real urgency to intervene. Breaking from his stupor, Tig glanced over at the woman beside him, tugging the bottle away from her grasp to take a mouthful of the burning, amber liquid. Not giving up easily, the croweater pulled her arm away from behind him, resting one hand on his shoulder, the other on his lap.

"Why don't you go see if the girls need help with something?" he said to her, and she threw him a dubious look, quickly replacing it with a seductive smile.

"You sure you don't need help with anything?" Her hand slid closer to his crotch.

He glanced down at it, took another mouthful of whiskey, then said in a clear and steady voice, "Get out of here. Go. Now." When she didn't appear ready to move, he removed her hand for her and gave her a little shove off the furniture, ignoring her obviously offended expression. "Go on, get outta here." She cursed at him, stumbling away to find an easier target.

The Scotsman watched as Alice smiled to herself, and he settled back against the countertop. Crisis averted. It was the first time he had ever seen the Sergeant-at-Arms reject the advances of a willing woman, and he couldn't help but wonder if the mercenary had something to do with that. His gaze trailed after her as she strolled off towards the front doors with a thoughtful expression on her face. His brother was getting in deep with this one. He only hoped he knew what he was doing.

* * *

It was peaceful up on the rooftop. A warm breeze swept over Alice as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the quiet, leaning back on her hands against the sloping structure. The tinny echo of boots climbing the metal staircase to her left drew her from her meditative daze. Jax appeared at the top, pausing slightly when he saw that he wasn't alone.

"Sorry. Guess I stole your spot," she told him as he climbed over. She had grown used to the easy smiles she always seem to draw from him, but as he approached her now he only looked troubled. He thrust his hands into his jean pockets and turned to stare off over the edge. When he turned to look at her again, her eyes darted to his swollen lip. He caught the look and nodded.

"Guess he told you."

"About the fight?"

"Yeah." He eyed her for a moment, picking up on the underlying suggestion of her comment.

"You know," he realized.

She closed her eyes, hearing the dejection in his voice, and nodded. "I figured it out. The night it happened, after my contact called. It was too late to stop it."

He ran a hand back through his golden locks, looking just about done with the topic. He'd had too many conversations with too many people, all with too much riding on the truth. He was sick of the self-preserving bullshit. His best friend had lost his wife, and all anyone seemed to want to do was cover their own asses rather than take responsibility. He looked over at her, wondering where she landed on all of this, pretty sure he already knew.

"We both know what happened out there," she went on.

"Like who pulled the trigger?" he added, drawing the exact reaction he knew he would.

"You can't put all of this on him," she said, with a defensive edge to her tone.

"Like hell I can't."

"Clay's the one who ordered the hit."

He stared at her for a moment. "You know, it's getting' real hard to figure out where your loyalties lie."

"You've said it yourself before, I don't owe this club any loyalty," she replied, but her expression suggested otherwise as she considered her own words. "You guys are like brothers to Juice, and he's like blood to me. So I guess in a way that makes us all part of the same big, dysfunctional family. And I feel like if it's in my power to help keep that family together, even just for his sake, I'll do what I can. He needs you guys. He hasn't got anyone else."

Jax nodded. He knew what the club meant to the young member; he had been the one to take him in, after all – the one to give the kid a chance. Clay had sponsored him, sure, but it was Jax who had seen Juice's potential as a hacker, offering the boy shelter when he had nowhere else to go. He recalled the scene from the previous night; the kid's refusal to face her after what she had done. He hadn't been particularly impressed himself, but he knew that because of her, two of his brothers were free men. He couldn't hate her for that. She had done as any of them might have in order to protect the club.

"You talk to him?"

She nodded. "He's had a lot of shit to deal with since I came back. I think he's struggling to get his head around who I am now. He still wants to see me as that innocent girl he used to share his weed with."

"Innocent?" Jax scoffed playfully, and she chuckled.

"Yeah, well. In the eyes of the beholder, I guess."

Jax nodded. "He loves you."

"Kid's been in love with me for as long as I've known him."

"Guess the feelin' ain't mutual, then."

She cocked an eyebrow, but didn't reply. There were way too many ways she could answer that; so many excuses she had given herself over the years for never taking things further with him.

"You stayed with Tig that night, didn't you? After it happened?" Jax said, ripping her from her thoughts.

"He was really messed up about it. Still is."

"Honestly? I couldn't give a shit about that. He crossed a line and as far as I'm concerned, he ain't ever coming back from that. It's done."

"You can't keep punishing him for this, Jax."

"You tellin' me my business?"

"I…" She shook her head and glanced away, looking a little frustrated with herself. He almost would have thought that she was embarrassed. "Look, me and him... there's something there, man."

He just stared, an incredulous expression on his face.

"What, with Tig?"

She nodded, opened her mouth to talk, but just sighed instead. She wasn't any good with this feelings shit.

"Jesus Christ. You're serious?"

"Yeah," she admitted, with the enthusiasm of someone who had just admitted to being diagnosed with a terminal illness. This had never happened to her before, especially not with someone she had only meant as a fuck. She felt like she was at an AA meeting struggling to confess to her addiction. No, she didn't have a problem. She could quit any time she wanted.

"Tig?" he confirmed, a disgusted look on his face.

"I don't know what to tell you, man. It just sort of happened."

"So, what, you his Old Lady now, or something?"

She made a face at the idea of it and he bit back a smirk. It was clear she had never seen herself as the type to settle down, and honestly, with her line of work, he couldn't blame her. He couldn't have picked a weirder pair for this to happen to.

"Look, shit, I don't know. But what I do know is that I can't stand seeing him hurting like this. I gotta know that this shit's gonna get put behind you two. That you're not planning on taking some sort of revenge on him. I don't think I could let that fly, you know?"

He caught the hint of a threat in her words and his eyes narrowed.

"What are you saying? You gonna step up to me?"

She snorted and threw him an unimpressed look. "Don't make me."

He laughed a little at the thought, and she couldn't help but join him. The whole situation felt so bizarre. She had basically just threatened him, and if it came down to it, she knew she would defend Tig any way she had to, same as she would Juice if he ever found himself in any kind of trouble; but in that moment, sharing the calm, peaceful space of the rooftop, any conflict between her and the vice president seemed so unlikely.

"I think I made my point to him," he went on.

"Got it out of your system?" she asked him as he took a seat, thinking back to the state of Tig's face when he had returned home the previous evening.

"I wouldn't put it that way. But it's as far as I can take it, short of actually killin' the guy. That truth ever got out, it would destroy this club."

"Yeah. And you know I don't want to see that happen either. No one else has to know."

He gave a nod.

"So how does this get taken care of? Planning on pinning it on a rival gang? Something like that?"

"That's for us to worry about, not you. Look, I appreciate everything you've done for us. For me. But I think it'd be better if you took a step back for a while. You keep getting roped into our shit, and I know it ain't doin' you any favors. I know you're only lookin' out for Juice, and I get that. And whatever it is you got goin' with Tig, whichever way that ends up going, fine. But you can't be out here settling our beefs for us."

"Wouldn't wanna make you guys look bad. A woman doin' your dirty work."

"Honestly, after seeing the way you handle things, hearing about some of the shit you've done, it might play out to our advantage if we keep you hidden up our sleeves a little while longer. Might come a day where we do need you to handle something."

"Element of surprise. My favorite."

"Exactly. Out o' curiosity, you ever done any work for the Mayans? One-Niners? Anyone like that?"

"I do believe in confidentiality, Jax."

He made a sound of amused disbelief as he lit up a cigarette. He offered her one but she shook her head.

"If you intend on helping keep this club in one piece, I think you're gonna find you lose that liberty pretty quickly. Where we're at right now? We don't got a lot of friends left. It helps to know that you're not gonna be givin' anyone a leg up."

"I'd never do anything that I'd think would put you guys in danger." She looked out over the rooftop, and he could see her deliberating how much information to give away. "Most of my clients are independents. I helped out a Mexican street gang once with flushing out a rat. Didn't step on anyone else's toes in the process. At least, I don't think I did. Think it was an internal thing. And as of now, the only MC I've ever helped out was your Tacoma charter, and even then that was completely coincidental. Not without its perks, though," she added, smiling to herself.

"Happy?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, he had some interesting things to say about you. Now that I think about it, it makes sense you bein' with Tig."

She chuckled.

"Can't say I like it, though. You done right by me. Mostly," he added, recalling her momentary misjudgment in the Chapel. "Him, on the other hand…"

"He tries to do the right thing. He was doing what he though was best for the club. Believe me when I say he's paying for that mistake. He was still beating himself up long after you finished with him, and I'm sure he will be for a long time to come. Least I can do is try to help him through that."

Jax regarded her for a moment as she stared off across the lot, surprised by the genuine sentiment in her words.

"Wow. You actually love the guy, don't you?"

"It's lookin' that way, huh?" she sighed, like it was just another inconvenience, but her smile gave her away. She could try as hard as she wanted to keep up the illusion of the dead-eyed killer, but with every moment spent in her company, Jax began to see the real Alice, and every weakness she tried so desperately to hide. At least he knew, if it ever came down to it and she tried to turn on him or the club, he had plenty of ways to persuade her otherwise. He just hoped it never had to come down to that.

* * *

Most of the crowd had cleared out by the time she made it back to the clubhouse, leaving Jax alone to his own rooftop meditation. Those who were still around were still drinking their way through their heavy thoughts, many taking up the sweetbutts and croweaters on their offers of comfort in this trying time. Spotting Tig still alone on the couch, empty bottle of whiskey laying on the ground, she watched as he drank now from a bottle of vodka.

"Christ, who gave him that?" she asked Chibs, catching his gaze from the bar.

"Got it himself," the Scot replied, frowning his disapproval at the sad, boozy behavior. He eyed her suspiciously. "You know what's got him so torn up?"

"You know Tig," she replied, mirroring his expression, "Could be all kinds of shit."

They glanced back over at the Sergeant, spotting the bottle perched precariously in his hand as he pressed the other hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, as if regretting his decision to keep drinking.

"Come on. Come give me a hand with the big oaf before he kills himself."

Chibs followed her over and she handed him the Vodka, taking Tig by the hand and attempting to get him on his feet. He waved her away and she crouched down in front of him.

"Hey. Come on. Let's go."

"He does not look good," Chibs commented.

"No kidding," she replied, throwing the man a look. "He's probably seeing two of me. Fantasy finally coming true, huh?" she said to Tig, who managed a laugh. She smiled and he finally made an attempt to get up, quickly falling heavily back into the seat. "Get his other arm," she directed Chibs. It was a joint effort, but they eventually managed to get him up, failing to stop him from snatching up the vodka and taking another mouthful. Shaking her head, Alice allowed it, taking Chibs's cue as he started for the dorms.

The moment they got him through the door, he dropped the bottle, stumbling towards the bathroom, managing to catch most of his vomit with his hand before he crashed down in front of the toilet and aimed the rest of it into the bowl. Shaking her head with an unimpressed sigh, Alice went to him, crouching down next to him as she rubbed his back, speaking gentle, soothing words. Chibs watched from the doorway, as struck by the oddness of seeing the man comforted in such a way, as he was by the softness in her voice. Tig stretched out his non-vomit-covered hand to rest on her shoulder in silent gratitude, the most he could muster in his current state, then leaned forward as he vomited again. Alice threw Chibs a bemused look and he chuckled. He stood watching them for a moment, feeling as if he was baring witness to a rare spectacle; the gentle mercenary, and the vulnerable Sergeant-at-Arms. This thing between them was finally starting to make some sense to him.

Tig groaned and rolled to the side, sitting with his back against the wall as he spat into the bowl.

"Shit," he said softly to himself, and Alice chuckled.

"You never learn, do you, Alex?"

He aimed a half-hearted kick towards her and she laughed again, flushing away the contents of his stomach. She held out her hand to help him up, but he waved it away, rubbing at his eyes as his stomach continued its unpredictable churning.

"Leave me," he told her, but she knew he just meant in the bathroom, not altogether. They'd already played that game once before. She ran her fingers through his hair and Chibs caught the way the man closed his eyes and relaxed beneath her touch.

"Alright. I'll go get you a bottle of water. No more booze," she warned the drunk.

"Yes, Mom," came his playful, groaning retort, earning a sarcastic glare in return.

"Fucker."

Chibs chuckled at them as she stepped out into the dorm. She took a moment to breathe the fresher air, her hands on her hips as she glanced over at him.

"I'll stay with him," she told him, and he nodded.

"Not the worst state I've ever seen him in."

She scoffed and nodded; fantastic. "Guess I've got a lot to look forward to, then," she said, only realizing afterwards how it sounded. Chibs smirked, sensing her anxiety over the looming future.

"He's lucky to have you with him. You be good to him, Alice," he told her, tipping her a wink before he headed out. Her eyes widened slightly at the use of her real name, and she knew he wasn't just talking about the night ahead.


	16. Chapter 16: Returns

_Urgh, writer's block is a bitch. I've been working on this chapter on and off for the past week and a bit, getting it out scene by scene. I'm trying to update as frequently as the muse allows, so apologies for the inconsistency. Big shout out to_ **Ang R** _for the amazing reviews and for listening to my many rambles about this story. You've been such a big help, but this prompts the question for all you other lovely readers. I'm in the process of deciding which direction to take this story, and I would really like to know which pairing you prefer for Alice. Are there Juice/Alice fans out there silently awaiting the day he makes his move, or are we generally content with the Tig/Alice thing that's unfolding? Let me know!_

 _Also quick shout out to_ **Raging Raven** _for their passionate reviews, and I'm sure, for confusing all new readers who read said review and think I've actually inserted a rock legend into the SOA world._

 _And finally, thank-you to_ **meyou744** , **sillygabby** _and_ **lilnudger82** _for also taking the time to review. It means a lot to me. Yay! We've officially arrived at season two, and I've just hit over 100k words for this story. Hope you enjoy the latest installment, and thanks in advance for all favorites, follows and reviews._

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **RETURNS**

' _Where it began, I can't begin to knowing_

 _But then I know it's growing strong_

 _Was in the spring_

 _Then in the spring became the summer_

 _Who'd have believed you'd come along…'_

Neil Diamond's _Sweet Caroline_ echoed through the cold, empty compound, bouncing off the steel doors and walls as the sound cut through the still surroundings. Frankie hummed the lyrics as she scrubbed at a stubborn bloodstain on her chair, kneeling on the floor of the interrogation chamber. The entire room stank of bleach, but she had been around it so much these past few years, she barely noticed it anymore. Getting to her feet, she tossed the red-stained rag into her bucket of sudsy water and headed for the bottle of water she kept on the work bench. She glanced around the room as she squeezed some of the cool liquid into her mouth, keeping an eye out for the slightest bit of evidence that might point to what had just gone down in the space. This one had gotten particularly messy, and she had just spent the better part of an hour wiping down every single surface, paying meticulous attention to detail as she worked. No one would ever be able to tell what had gone on in that room. Satisfied with her effort, she lowered the volume on her speakers and took out her cellphone to listen to the awaiting voicemail, the soundtrack reaching its famous chorus. She smiled to herself as she sang along, voice off-key but enthusiastic.

" _Sweet Caroline! Bah, bah_ …bah?" She froze, cocking her head. The unmistakable crunch of footsteps sounded from the driveway outside. She wasn't expecting any company. Sticking her phone back in her pocket and switching the music off completely, her other hand went immediately to the handgun she kept on her workbench. She racked the slide, still humming softly to herself as she moved towards the door. Knowing the complex better than anyone, she switched off the lights before she left the room, giving herself the upper hand, and slipped silently out into the warehouse. Reaching the ajar sliding entrance, she pressed her back to the wall beside it, hidden from any prying eyes, and waited. A shadow spilled through the doorway onto the concrete floor as the moonlight caught the intruder's form. She wracked her brain trying to think of any outstanding beefs she might have with anyone – anyone who might want to hunt her down and hurt her. The obvious came to mind – her old connections from Cuba. Surely they wouldn't be so stupid as to try this again.

The intruder stepped inside, movements hesitant at the sudden silent surroundings. Just as they took a step further into the complex, she moved from her hiding spot and clicked off the safety, muzzle pointed at the back of their head. Spooked by the familiar sound, they caught her by the wrist and brought their elbow down hard into her stomach, winding her. With barely a split-second's hesitation, she yanked herself out of their grasp and swung out a leg, knocking their feet out from under them, sending them to the cold concrete below. Her gun was aimed, ready to make the kill, but the second she heard the familiar groan, she raced to the nearest switch and flicked it on.

"Shit, Tig. What the fuck are you doing sneaking around like that? I almost blew your damn head off!"

She glanced over at the splayed contents of the takeout bag he had been carrying, the spicy scent of Thai food wafting from it, then moved to help him up.

"Sneaking around? Christ, you try to surprise a girl with dinner…"

A crooked smile cut across her features as she emitted a slightly condescending, "Aww."

He threw her a look as she pulled him up onto his feet again, and brushed himself down, looking around.

"Why so jumpy?"

Her expression faltered, brows drawing together. "Seriously? You forgetting I've literally had CIA assassins try to hunt me down?"

"Oh yeah."

"Oh yeah," she teased, crouching down to grab the food off the floor. Thankfully, none of it had spilled out of the containers. "What did you get?"

"That Pad Thai shit you like."

"Coconut rice?" she asked, eyes bright and hopeful. As rarely as she ate such carb-laden food, she could never turn down the sweet, creamy dish.

"Yeah, and the rice."

She grinned, pausing as she rose back up to rub at her sternum, expression turning pained.

"Shit, I really clocked you one, huh?"

"Yeah, got me pretty good. How's your ass?" she grinned, given a nod towards the likely-bruised body part.

"Just as tight and smooth as you remember it."

"I dunno, man. Might need to refresh my memory." She moved towards him, dumping the bag on the ground as she looped her arms around his waist and dropped her hands down for a squeeze.

"Yeah?"

"Mh-hm."

"You ever done it in here before?"

"Nope."

"Perfect."

She chuckled as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and leaned forward into a slow, deep kiss.

"Where to?" he asked, when they finally parted.

"The chair?" she suggested.

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah," she chuckled at his enthusiastic expression, knowing it had been a fantasy of his for a while now. "Fair warning, though, it reeks of bleach in there."

"I don't mind," he admitted, as he started moving towards the inner door, still holding her up, "You ever smell embalming fluid before?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, wrinkling her nose, cringing as she let the comment sink in.

"What?" he asked defensively, and she could only laugh.

"Nothing." She shook her head and gazed down at the degenerate with nothing but affection.

He stopped in the doorway, attention drawn away as the chair came into view, its metal restraints lying glistening and idle. She felt him harden almost immediately beneath her.

"Oh, baby, I love you. I really do."

* * *

The food was almost cold by the time they went back to retrieve it, taking a seat outside the interrogation room dressed in nothing but their underwear. Though it was generally cool inside the warehouse, a light, warm breeze blew in from the doorway, settling over them as they ate; the heat radiating from their adjacent bodies further easing the surrounding temperature. Alice spooned up a mouthful of rice, chewing it thoughtfully as she glanced over at Tig's meal.

"What'd you get?" she asked.

"I dunno, some beef thing," he replied with a shrug, holding it out for her to try. She speared a piece of meat with her plastic fork and popped it in her mouth, pulling an impressed face at the flavor.

"Not half bad, huh?" he shrugged, appearing neutral himself.

"Not the kinda Thai you're used to, I'm guessing? This place offer you the five-finger special, too?"

"Nah, I go to a different place for that," he assured her, earning a chuckle in response.

"Hi, yes, I'll get the Cream of Sum Yung Gai," she deadpanned, grinning to herself as he snickered. "Don't tell me you've never seen _Wayne's World_."

He shook his head and she gave a playful scoff.

"You ever see _Smokey and the Bandit_?" he asked, glancing up at her, looking equally offended as she shook her head. "Kid's these days. You know, we should have a movie night. You gotta see _Smokey and the Bandit._ It's a classic."

"Alright, deal."

"Then afterwards we can watch the porn version."

"There's a porn version? What is it, _Choke-me and the Bandit_?"

"Seriously, that's the best you could come up with?" he asked her, and she chuckled, expression quickly changing as she recalled a forgotten task.

"Oh shit, that reminds me." She set her food aside and got to her feet, disappearing into the adjoining room. She returned a moment later carrying her phone, looking amused. He eyed her suspiciously, and she caught the expression as she sat back down beside him. She passed him the burner and he glanced down at the screen, frowning when he realized what he was looking at.

"Guess I don't gotta ask how your day was," he said, staring at the photo of the bruised and bleeding body just as a message came through. It was a single emoticon. A smiley face. He glanced at the name of the sender. "Really? You send this shit to Happy?"

"It's just sort of a thing we have," she replied, earning a bemused look in return. "Hey, just be glad I'm not sending the guy nudes."

"Probably have the same effect," he joked, passing the cell back to her.

"You're really gonna judge him for _his_ kinks? You really wanna go down that road?"

"Did I say anything?"

She chuckled at him and went back to her meal. "So what did you boys get up to today?

"Had a little chat with the Irish this morning."

"Oh yeah, how'd that go?"

"They're cheating us something awful, those Mick bastards."

"Dodgy Irish? Pull the other one."

"You know Hayes was asking after you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Askin' how you were. I told him I'd ask you when I saw you in bed tonight."

She laughed. "I don't know why he's asking about me. Juice was the one with the finger up his ass."

He cackled at that, scooping up the last of his beef. "Got to play with some real nice toys, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Target practice with the prospect." He raised an imaginary gun, fork balanced between two fingers, and made a shooting gesture.

"You guys are so mean to him."

He dropped his hands down and went back to his meal, teasing, "You got a little crush on Sacky?"

"Maybe," she smirked. "He's got that whole baby face thing going on. Wouldn't mind breaking him in, corrupting him a little. It's always fun with the innocent ones."

"Maybe we oughta let you bring him here, a little work experience for the kid. Toughen him up a little."

"You know, that's not a bad idea. It'd be nice to have someone to help with the clean-up."

"I'll run it by Clay tomorrow." A look came over him then as if he had just remembered something unpleasant.

"What?"

"Opie's back tomorrow."

In the four weeks since Donna's death, she had seen Tig manage to get himself to a place of relative acceptance over the terrible incident without the grieving widower around as a constant reminder. Opie had decided to take a walkabout; the club's term for what was essentially a solo ride undertaken by an individual in need of some serious soul searching. Those past four weeks had been the most peaceful she had experienced since her introduction to the MC, though that could have also had something to do with Jax's suggestion that she take a step back for a while. She hadn't been called out to any jobs by them, and had been able to focus instead on her other clients' needs. Less drama with the club also meant more stress-free downtime with her favorite boys. She and Juice had successfully stuck to their workout regime, often ending up in the clubhouse gym to save him the trip, and when they weren't doing that, they were back at her place getting high and playing video games; something that was quickly becoming a favorite pass time of theirs.

Balancing her relationship with Juice and the one she that was rapidly developing with Tig had proven a challenge; making excuses for not being able to spend time with one due to already having plans with the other, even more so. To his credit, Juice had gotten used to the fact she was essentially dating one of his brothers, and didn't give her as hard a time about it anymore – aside from the occasional off-color joke about her catering to Tig's more bizarre fetishes. Tig, on the other hand, never failed to pull the same face whenever she mentioned having plans with the younger man. But it was nothing compared to the way he acted when she was around Happy.

With Juice he didn't see a competition – especially since he tended to focus on the sexual aspect of the relationship and his own competency in fulfilling his woman's needs, something he was certain was not a problem between him and Alice; he made sure of that. He knew she and Juice were close, but Alice had always treated him more like a brother than a lover. But whenever he saw her with the Nomad, he couldn't deny the heat that was there between them, and he knew he wasn't the only one to notice it. Chibs and Jax had commented on it a number of times over the past few weeks, with Happy slowly becoming more active within the Californian charter, and sensing some weird, unspoken bond between the mercenary and the enforcer, Tig had only become more wary. He was well aware that he had grown more invested in whatever it was that was forming between them than she had, and the idea that she might be able to more easily walk out on him actually stung. Every moment she spent in the company of Happy served as a stark reminder to him of all his insecurities and shortcomings, and as a man with a quick temper, it only made him moodier. The irony of it all was that, at the end of the day, the same woman who stirred all these feelings up in him was the only one who could just as quickly calm him down.

Now, with Opie returning to the club, he felt like his little break from reality was drawing to a close. The first topic of discussion would be exacting revenge on Donna's murderer – whoever Clay decided that would be – and then every bad feeling he had been working so hard to keep repressed would come flooding back. Just the thought of it all had the threat of a headache pulsing around his temples.

"Where are you all at with that situation?" Alice asked, already knowing exactly where his mind was heading as she watched him pinch the bridge of his nose.

"We're gonna have a sit down once he's back. Figure that out."

"Any idea what Clay has planned?"

"We've always got a score to settle with the Mayans. Shouldn't be too hard to convince him it was one o' them."

She frowned. "I thought you guys were pinning it on the Niners. Black S.U.V. ain't exactly standard Mayan transport, is it?"

"Yeah, well, we don't got a choice. Piney paid the Niners a visit day after it happened. Laroy confirmed it wasn't them, so we had to tweak the story a little. Shouldn't be too hard to make him believe it was one o' them fucking Mexicans. After all the shit they've done lately."

He bowed his head and shut his eyes, more memories of the incident and surrounding events leaking back into his memory.

"What?"

"The day it happened, I was out with Ope. We were in a warehouse makin' a drop. I had my orders from Clay by then, but some shit went down. Guy ended up saving my life. And I had a clear shot to take him out after, but I couldn't do it. I mean, how could the guy who had just saved my ass from being shot also be the same guy ratting out his brothers? It just didn't, didn't connect, you know?"

"Why are you thinking about that now?"

"We're gonna say the Mayans recognized his truck from the drop, that's why they were following Donna. Mistook her for him."

Alice nodded, finally making sense of his train of thought. He hadn't been like this in weeks. She was almost annoyed at Opie for returning, then she thought of his kids and her resolve softened. Having grown up with Juice, she knew what the life of a neglectful single parent could do to a kid, and she only hoped the man's return would at least have an upside for them.

"You just gotta get through this one last thing, then you can finally put it all behind you, okay?" she said to him, resting her hand on his thigh and giving it a squeeze. "Besides, Bobby's party's tomorrow night, too. I'm sure we'll find some way to improve your day, right?" He rested his head back against the wall and shut his eyes again, looking a little more relaxed at the suggestion.

"Yeah. You're right."

Smiling she ran her hand up his bare skin, all the way to his belly button, before backtracking to the band of his boxers. He cracked an eye open as she slid her hand beneath the material and took him in a firm grasp.

"Again?"

"Nothing better than slow, sloppy sex on a full stomach."

He chuckled and pulled her towards him so she was straddling him, knocking aside the empty takeout boxes. He knew she was just trying to distract him, but honestly for that he was grateful.

* * *

The party was already well under way by the time she rocked up in her Dodge, though the man whose return they were celebrating had yet to make an appearance. Alice sighed as she cut the ignition, pressing on the overhead light as she looked at herself in the rearview mirror. She hadn't had time to stop at her house to change, and since she didn't carry around make-up in her bag, she was stuck with the pale skin and dark circles a lack of sleep had given her. She ran her fingers through her short hair to at least make herself look somewhat presentable, put on a spritz of her favorite perfume – a soft, floral-scented one that was subtle enough to not leave behind any lingering traces at crime scenes – and stepped out into the night air.

She recognized the guy on gate duty from around the club, and he was quick to let her in, knowing which of the club members she was with and what would happen to him if her were to deny his lady entry. She threw a brief, hollow smile in his direction and continued on towards the crowd. Juice was always easy to pick out from a distance, with his signature haircut, and even in the dim glow of the drumfires she spotted him standing around with Happy, Piney…and Opie. She almost stopped in her tracks at the mere sight of the biker, unsure what to even say to him. She had spent so much time consoling the man who had murdered his wife, holding a grudge against the mere thought of him for causing Tig so much grief, yet he had never actually done anything wrong. Opie was the victim in all of this at the end of the day, and he really couldn't hold any fault what had taken place. Still, it felt far too late to be giving her condolences, and that left her in an awkward kind of limbo, unsure whether to even bring it up.

Mind buzzing, she noticed Tig standing with Clay by the garage, both in deep conversation. Looking morose, Tig glanced in her direction, catching sight of her. She felt a genuine smile bloom on her face and she gave a nod, not wanting to interrupt whatever business they were discussing, and he returned the gesture, his nod alerting Clay to her presence. The president gave the same greeting, though his own expression was far from welcoming, closer to its usual faint skepticism.

Continuing onwards, she met Happy's gaze first, feeling the same genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She snuck up behind Juice, the others looking on, knowing exactly what she was up to, keeping up their conversation to aid her in the little game. She threw her arms around her old friend and pulled him back against her, catching him so unawares he almost spilled his beer. Spluttering on the mouthful he had only just taken, he turned to throw her an annoyed look which quickly morphed into a reluctant smile.

"Why do you have to be like that?" he asked, and she just laughed, catching him in a headlock and ruffling his shaved head before planting a kiss on his cheek.

Her smile fell a little as she noticed the way Opie and Piney were looking at her.

"Welcome back," she told the younger of the two, feeling entirely unprepared for the encounter. He gave a nod of thanks, but his expression remained hesitant. Quickly growing uncomfortable under his gaze, she glanced towards the clubhouse, seeking her escape. "I'm gonna go grab a beer. You guys want anything?"

"I'm good," Opie replied, voice even. Piney gave a shake of his head and gestured with his full bottle.

"Yeah, I could use another," Juice told her, and she cocked her eyebrow at him but complied. Turning to Happy, she watched him drain the last of his own drink and gesture with a jerk of his head for her to follow him.

"I'll come with," he said in his usual gruff voice.

Tig's eyes followed the pair as they moved towards the clubhouse, his gaze having never really left Alice since she had arrived. Clay was asking something about the how things had gone with Donna's 'killer', but he was barely listening. Following his Sergeant's gaze, the president spotted Alice with the Nomad.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Nah," Tig replied, eyes still trained on the clubhouse, "I trust her."

But Clay had known the man long enough to know when he was lying.

* * *

"You look like shit."

Alice turned to throw her companion a look as they approached the bar.

"Gee, thanks, Hap."

"Something happen?"

She sighed as she leaned back against the counter, waiting for the bartender – an attractive, dark-haired croweater – to finish serving her other patrons.

"No, something _didn't_ happen. Met with a potential new client today, all the way out in the fucking city. Turned into a goddamn interview. Said they were meeting with a few others to make sure he was 'getting the best of the best'. Condescending prick."

Happy smirked, nodding to the croweater and gesturing for three beers.

"He didn't pick me," Alice went on.

The Nomad nodded, figuring from her behavior that this had been the case.

"Who'd they pick?"

"No idea. If I did know, I'd take them out just to prove a point."

He chuckled and passed her one of the drinks.

"Geez, insulting me then buying me a drink? You trying to get me into bed, Hap?"

"Never took that much before." He eyed her carefully, considering her, "You still fucking Tig?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"That the only thing stopping you?"

"I don't fuck with another brother's woman," he told her, but even as the words left his mouth, his eyes were openly roaming her body. "I didn't think you were the type, though."

"To 'settle down'?" she asked, a mocking tone to her voice. He nodded as he took a sip of his drink. "Honestly? Neither did I."

Her apathetic tone struck him as odd.

"So why are you with him?"

She glanced up at him. Happy: always one to get to the point.

"Trying something new, I guess."

He nodded, accepting the answer, though he could see there was more to it than that. He had noticed Tig's increasingly territorial behavior when she was around; the way he could go from his usual weird-but-friendly self, to wary and hostile. He could only imagine how that sort of shit made her feel, knowing her shared appreciation for life without obligations. Hell, maybe it was Tig's shit that was keeping her up at night. They headed back towards the doors.

"Hey, how's your ma doing?" Alice asked.

"Keepin' steady," he replied, "The money helped."

As promised, Alice had come through with the other half of their bargain after the Death Valley incident, wiring through the agreed amount. Though she hadn't known it at the time, every cent of it had gone towards the care of his ill mother, who was battling an aggressive form of cancer. A stubborn woman, Mrs. Lowman refused to wither away in a hospital ward, choosing instead to remain in the familiar surroundings of her suburban home. Under the care of his cousin and aunt, the money from the hit had helped buy a few extra luxuries to aid in his mother's comfort, as well as covering the expensive medication she was regularly prescribed.

"You ever need anything, you just ask. Or I can pass along a few jobs."

"I appreciate that."

"Anytime, Hap."

She clapped him on the back, earning a warm smile in return.

"You know, she was asking about you last time I saw her. Wanted to know if I was gonna make an honest woman out of you."

Alice had a good laugh at that.

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing. Can't get a word in edgeways with that woman. Once she has her mind set on something, she don't take any excuses."

"Guess I better not come around again, huh? She might start pushing for grandkids."

Stepping back into the warm night air, Alice headed back towards Juice to deliver his drink, only to be intercepted by Tig. He glanced between her and Happy, grabbing the second beer from her hand and taking a swig. She just stared at him.

"Thanks, doll."

"Actually, that was for Juice," she replied, "But I guess he can have this one."

"Kid can get his own."

"It's fine, I probably shouldn't be drinking anyway."

He watched as she headed over to the other group to deliver the promised beverage, feeling a little guilty for the presumption. He looked over at Happy, trying to gauge the other man's intentions towards his girl. The Nomad just stared back – not in a display of intimidation, Happy simply didn't have boundaries when it came to eye contact; just another of the man's many unsettling traits. By the time Alice returned, she caught the two in the middle of a bizarre kind of stare-off.

"Thanks for the beer, Hap, but it belongs to Juicy now. Who knows, maybe he'll be more willing to put out," she joked.

Tig broke his gaze to look at her, brows drawn together as he drank again. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing, it's just…it's just a joke, man." She sighed. "I'll catch you later, Hap."

Eyes still trained on Tig, he smiled then turned to her to give a brief nod, moving off to join one of the surrounding groups. Tig gazed after him, then turned back to find Alice looking unimpressed.

"You know what's really sexy?" she said to him, and his brows quirked together once more, curious.

"What?"

"Not your jealousy."

"What are you talking about?"

"Seriously? The only time I ever see you treat Happy like that is when I'm in the direct vicinity."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay. Cool. I might just go find him, then, finish our conversation."

He caught her by the shoulder and pulled her back, catching her playful grin.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Just admit it."

"Why? You gonna feel better knowing I don't like you bein' around him?"

"You don't trust me?" She said it in such a teasing tone, he found himself caught between inappropriate arousal and further doubt. He drew her closer, glancing over her shoulder as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

"How was San Francisco?"

She chuckled at his sudden change of subject, then gave a heavy sigh as she recalled the day's disappointing outcome.

"Shit. I didn't get the job. They went with someone else."

"Who?" he asked, tone incredulous, unable to think of anyone better at her line of work.

"No idea. Doesn't matter. Guy was a prick anyway."

He gazed down at her, suddenly realizing how haggard she looked under the flickering light of the nearby fire.

"You been sleepin'?"

She shook her head. This was becoming a regular thing with her. Over the months he had known her now, there were many nights he had woken up to find her wide awake or on her phone – the latter of which only proved to provoke his suspicious nature – or the times they stayed at hers, he might wake to an empty space beside him and find her up at odd hours cleaning, or watching TV in the living room with the sound on low while she sorted through papers. He wasn't unfamiliar with insomnia, often suffering from it himself since his time in the Corps, but this was different. She just didn't seem tired, though she frequently looked it.

"You got more of that Valium? You tried taking that?"

"No. Shit gives me headaches. I just…I've had a lot on my mind."

"You wanna sack out in one o' the dorms for a little while, I can come get you when Bobby gets here."

She smiled at him. "Nah, it's fine. Thanks for the concern." Looping her arms around his neck, she leaned in for a kiss.

"Hey, what did you mean before when you said you shouldn't be drinking?" he asked, once they had parted.

"Oh, I didn't tell you about the baby?" she deadpanned.

"Very funny."

"Man, the panic in your eyes when I said that."

"You're on the pill, right?"

She smirked at him, readying another sharp retort, when the moment was interrupted by the metallic rattle of the front gate sliding open. A slick, silver car pulled onto the lot, drawing the attention of the surrounding Sons.

"Who the hell is this?" Tig said, as they began moving towards it.

Alice immediately recognized two of the men who stepped out as Nords; their swastika tattoos a dead giveaway to their affiliation. The other two men who accompanied them, though, stood out in stark contrast to the worn jeans and wife-beater combination. Despite their immaculate appearance – both of them men who obviously took great pride in the way they presented themselves – there were clear differences in what exactly it was that they were representing. One was dressed in a suit, shoes polished to a high gleam, greying hair meticulously styled, carrying the smarmy smile of white-collar assurance; a businessman. The other wore a crisp, white shirt and dark, pressed slacks, sporting a buzz cut reminiscent of a military man. His large biceps bulged against the short sleeves of his shirt, giving him the overall appearance of a built Christian minister.

"Wait here a minute, doll," Tig told her, his arm falling away from her shoulders as he joined Clay to greet the strangers, not liking their confident swagger. She soon felt a hand on the small of her back as Juice stepped up beside her, eyeing the men warily. It wasn't long before most of the members had them surrounded, awaiting an explanation for their uninvited appearance.

The business man stepped towards Clay clutching a small, wooden box, which he held out with a warm smile.

"Mr. Morrow. I understand you're a Camachos fan."

Clay glanced down at the box of cigars, completely ignoring the generous offering as he glanced between the two of them, expression beyond skeptical.

"Who are you?"

"Just dropping by to deliver some friendly advice," Buzzcut replied, handing him a card. Clay glanced down at it.

 _ **League of American Nationalists.**_ A group he was all too familiar with. White power.

Unimpressed, he looked back, deciding to humor them. "And what advice would that be?"

"We feel it would be best for all those involved if you stopped dealing guns to the Mayans and the One-Niners."

The president glanced back at his crew, grinning, receiving a round of laughter in return. Alice just looked on, utterly baffled by the man's audacity. She didn't recognize either of the men, though they appeared to think themselves major players. And she really didn't like the vibes she was getting from the big one. He turned to look at her, expression seemingly frozen in a look of general disapproval, and her frown deepened.

"We're just mechanics and Harley lovers," Clay assured them, but to his right, his Sergeant had just clicked onto the same realization as Alice.

"That's one of Darby's guys back there."

"Mr. Darby is one of our supporters," the businessman informed them.

Clay simply gave a condescending nod, as if that little fact meant very little to him. The leader of the Nords was notoriously flakey when it came to alliances – he was sure his support hadn't been hard to come by. He started to size up their threat to his club.

"Expensive car, helluva suit, all your teeth. You must be top of the Aryan food chain, huh?"

Realizing now who they were dealing with, Alice glanced around at the others. Chibs stood by shaking his head at the nerve of the man as he smoked a cigarette, Half-Sack standing behind him looking slightly confused by the whole thing. Tig's gaze bored into the two outsiders, any humor he had displayed earlier at their arrogance now gone from his face. He looked just about ready to pick them up by their starch-stiffened collars and drag them back out the gate. She caught his fingers tapping against his thighs, rings clinking softly together as he fought the urge to draw a weapon. Happy had managed to slip silently up beside the more imposing of the two, and was eyeing him in a way that made Alice curious as to what horrible acts he was imagining performing on him. Though she would never admit it aloud, especially not with Tig around, it was a look that never failed to turn her on. Beside her, Juice maintained his protective stance, the corner of his mouth still turned up in a smirk, knowing these guys wouldn't dare touch them on their home turf.

This wasn't Alice's first run in with men like this. She had once been offered work by an Aryan group, but considering the nature of the job, not to mention that of the men, had been quick to turn them down. The work had been a racially based job that had turned her stomach at the mere thought of it, leaving her fighting the urge to take all of them out instead. It was after a little more digging on each of the men that she really regretted not following through with that urge; almost all of them had been convicted on a violent sex crime, one even serving time for physically abusing his own kid. As much as she was sure she would have been doing the world a favor, she had forced herself to push forward – sometimes life simply didn't allow time for elaborate vigilantism.

"What you do for a living is between you and your maker," the businessman went on, "I'm not here to adjust your moral compass. This is just a reality check. You're a criminal, and you're done selling guns to color."

That seemed to be about as much as Tig could take of their bullshit. In one swift motion, he drew his gun from its holster, barely managing to control his raging impulse to empty his clip into the antagonist's face. Alice tensed a little as she looked on, not knowing if he would actually go ahead with it. She had connected with the man for his violent tendencies, but in a lot of ways he was more dangerous; Tig was erratic, and rarely seemed to think things through. Donna alone was proof of that.

The businessman simply smiled. "Are you going to shoot me, Mr. Trager? In front of all these witnesses?"

Tig looked around, as if only just remembering where he was; the shroud of compulsion parting, giving him a chance to rethink his next move.

Feeling the air stir beside her, Alice glanced up to find Gemma standing next to her.

"What's going on?" the biker queen asked.

"Nothing good," came Alice's reply, as they continued to look on, both folding their arms as they frowned at the intruding men. She was actually a little surprised by how calm Clay was remaining despite the man's best efforts to try and provoke him.

"I don't know what Darby told you," the president began, throwing a quick look at his Sergeant to stand down, "And I don't know what your angle is, but let me be real clear. Nobody threatens SAMCRO, and nobody tells us what we can and can't do. Black, brown or white. So why don't you climb on back into your little German clown car and drive on back to Nazi town? Because next time you piss on my shoes, he will kill you. And I don't care how many witnesses there are."

The businessman scoffed at that, adding in a little smirk just to piss him off further, but the smile faltered ever so slightly as he caught the psychotic glint in Tig's eye. The Sergeant grinned at him, as if nothing would please him more than being let off the leash.

Finally accepting that he was beaten – at least for the time being – the cigar tycoon gave a nod, sensing it was time to make his exit. "My shop opens in a couple of weeks. Until then, enjoy." He placed the wooden box carefully by Clay's feet, then turned back towards his vehicle. His imposing partner nodded at the two Nords they had brought a long with them, ordering them to do the same, then turned back to Alice and Gemma once more. Alice's hand went instinctively to her sidearm, stepping out from between Juice and the matriarch; but between her and Happy, who was following the man close behind, it seemed unlikely that he would try anything stupid. What surprised Alice more, though, was when he gave a simple, genuine apology for disturbing their evening.

"The fuck?" she heard Juice mutter to himself. She turned back looking equally confused.

"The hell was that about?"

"No idea," he replied, shaking his head.

She watched the silver car carefully reverse back towards the gates as Clay approached; Tig and Happy stalking after it like a couple of wildcats, the pair of them an intimidating sight to behold. She really wouldn't want to be the person on the receiving end of those two dead-eyed stares. Then again, when she really thought about it…She smirked.

"I want to know everything," Clay said to Juice, passing him the business card.

"You got it." He held up the bit of paper, inviting her join him in answering a few of those questions she'd had, but she gave a brief shake of the head.

"Nah, I better wait for Quick Draw McGraw over there," she told him, nodding towards Tig as he made his way back beside the Nomad. "Let me know what you find out, though. I'm curious."

"Yeah, sure," he replied, heading off towards the clubhouse.

"What?" Tig asked as he drew closer, catching her disapproving look.

"You've always gotta whip it out, don't you?"

"Just for you, baby."

"You know, I feel like you've got a pretty good head on your shoulders, you oughta try using it sometimes."

He stopped in front of her, grinning as she looked up at him, unimpressed.

"You know what I really want on my shoulders?"

She rolled her eyes, but found herself unable to fight back a smirk.

"What was their deal?" she asked, nodding towards the gate.

"Them? Nothing. Took a wrong turn off Whitey Avenue."

"I'm sure."

"Forget about them. Come on, let's go have some fun."


	17. Chapter 17: Alice (ii)

_So it seems pretty unanimous so far that you guys are liking the Tig/Alice pairing, which works well with what I have planned. Although in saying that, anything could happen! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story so far, and that there has been so much positive feedback. I now have the next three or four chapters planned out, so expect more regular updates (fingers crossed I don't end up jinxing myself)._

 _Annnnd, I jinxed myself. I wrote that intro nearly three weeks ago. My bad! [Insert usual excuses for not updating consistently, apology, and flaky promise that I'll try my best to do better in the future]. I didn't lie about having those chapters planned out though, so that should definitely help, I just think I may be a little bit in over my head with the amount of stories I have going at the moment. Maybe. (Definitely)._

 _Thanks for reading! And I look forward to any feedback :)_ _You know I always appreciate it._

 _ **Series Content Warning**_ _: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor._

* * *

 **ALICE (ii)**

Bobby arrived not long after the Aryan departure, courtesy of his ATF escort. Stepping out of the black sedan, he received a warm welcome from his surrounding brothers, who immediately pulled him off towards the clubhouse, ready to get him drunk and laid after his month of involuntary sobriety. Alice chuckled at their rowdy behavior, watching as they threw their arms around Bobby's shoulders and clapped him on the back in greeting, but she hung back with Clay as together they turned to face Agent Stahl. Alice was surprised she had the nerve to show her face at the club again after all that she had done to the Winston family, but one look at the agent's face told her the woman had not soon forgotten the consequences of her actions. Still, being the kind of person she was, this didn't stop Stahl from her usual display of cocky condescension.

"Nice to see you without a black eye this time," she said to Alice, who smirked, "Guess you must be doing something right."

"Yeah, well, see there's this unspoken agreement that there can only be one battered woman on the lot at a time. Helps allay any suspicions from prying types, you know?"

"I see." She glanced around at those who remained around them, pretending to seek out the latest victim, playing along with the joke. "So whose turn was it this time?"

"I guess that depends on how long it takes you to get off the lot."

Stahl's smirk faltered, but Clay's only grew wider.

"I see none of your CIA buddies got an invite." She glanced at Clay, testing his reaction, but the club president simply stared back. So she'd told them. Well, there went her leverage. Still, she couldn't say she was surprised; the girl was smart – smart enough to have never gotten caught, at least. There was that thread again, just begging to be pulled.

"Guess they got better things to do than harass small town MCs," Alice replied.

Clay chuckled as Stahl's expression took on a bitter edge, her confident smirk barely managing to remain in place.

"Hey, why don't you stick around?" Clay asked her as she made to get back into the car. She paused in the doorway. "I bet you could do some major damage to a stripper pole."

"You have no idea," Stahl retorted, before slipping back into the car, peeling off the lot with greater haste than their previous visitors. Alice turned back to Clay, shaking her head, and found him still clutching the gifted box of cigars. He opened the lid, taking a whiff of the contents, looking unsure. He held it out to her.

Her brows drew together, thrown by his sudden generosity. "Really?"

"Yeah." He gestured with the box for her to take one, and she slowly reached out, still unsure about his endgame. "For all I know," he went on, "He mighta tampered with 'em. Better you than me."

Unsure if it was a genuine concern of his, or if he was simply masking a sudden feeling of camaraderie in the wake of Stahl's ribbing, she took one anyway.

"Oh well, if I die, I go out smoking the good stuff. Thanks." For once she was the one left sporting a skeptical expression. He gave a light snort and turned away, heading off to find his wife before she left to take care of Abel for the night.

Running the cigar under her nose, Alice moved off towards the clubhouse, following the rowdy partygoers who were still reveling in the arrival of the free man. She spotted Bobby in the center of the crowd inside, flanked by two chubby, big-breasted croweaters – one redhead and one blonde – chugging down a beer. The moment he was finished, more alcohol was shoved in his direction, but not before he paused to motorboat the breasts of the giggling redhead.

"Not a bad homecoming, huh?" Juice asked, grinning, as she approached him at the bar.

"You guys have always known how to throw the best parties," she agreed, reaching over the counter as she searched for the desired implement. Juice watched her with a slight frown, only managing to look more confused when she gave a pleased 'Aha!' and sat back down with a knife in hand. She placed the cigar atop the bar and readied the blade on its end, but before she could make the incision, a familiar hand grabbed her by the wrist.

"Jesus Christ, you're a butcher," Tig told her, taking the knife from her grip and stepping around inside the bar to rummage around in one of the drawers. He held up a cigar cutter, throwing her a judgmental look and she grinned, catching it as he tossed it to her.

"I was improvising," she told him, and he shook his head.

"Good way to ruin a perfectly good cigar. Where'd you get it anyways?"

"Gift from your prez."

"No kidding." He pulled an impressed face, grabbing a couple of beers. "You sure you don't want one?" he asked her, looking like he didn't really want to take no for an answer.

"Beer and a cigar? And you call me the goddamn savage. Need some good whiskey to go with this shit."

He smirked at her and set about pouring her a glass, thinking back to the very first time he had brought her into the club house and done the exact same thing. Juice watched as she cut off the end, flinching back when she started reaching into his numerous pockets looking for a lighter.

"You could just ask," he told her, taking the desired item from the inner pocket of his kutte and flicking it open for her. She leaned towards the flame, taking a couple of puffs as Tig placed her drink in front of her, watching her with a curious little smirk. He didn't know what it was exactly, but the cigar look suited her. Their attention was drawn to the pool table as Bobby pushed his redhead back onto it and proceeded to bury his face between her legs. The woman let out a surprised squeal and grabbed him by his wild, frizzy hair as he went to work on her. The three of them chuckled, watching the man enjoy his spoils for the evening. Tig took a long gulp of his beer, eyeing Alice steadily as she smiled coyly around her smoke, enjoying the way her lips looked wrapped around the thick tobacco leaf. She took a drag then held it out to him to try, watching him as she sipped her whiskey. He passed it back after a quick puff, leaning across the counter for a kiss, Alice careful not to let him lean onto the cigar's smoldering end. As the kiss deepened, she felt the item taken from her hand, and pulled back to watch Juice take a drag. He pulled a face and was quick to hand it back to her.

"I think I'll stick to cigarettes. Shit tastes like ass."

"You would know," Tig replied, taking another sip of his drink as he leaned casually against the bar. He drained the rest of the bottle, then cocked his head and added, "Who am I kidding, so would I."

Alice chuckled, having found herself on the end of his probing tongue a number of times herself, and wasn't about to complain. Sometimes you didn't know you liked something until you tried it.

"I gotta go talk to Clay. Don't go anywhere," he told her, the devious glint in his eye hinting at what he had planned for her later. She cocked an eyebrow at the playful order, but remained seated, eyes following him over to where the president stood on the other side of the room talking to Happy. Taking another drag of the cigar, she eased back on the barstool, resting back on her elbow as she observed the room. Chibs came stumbling through the crowd, Half-Sack clutched reluctantly beneath his arm as they came to a stop beside her, ordering a fresh round of drinks.

"Hey," Half-Sack greeted her with a smile, face pink as he swayed beside the Scotsman.

"Someone got started early," she chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, don't get too drunk, Chibs. You might start talking to me again."

The Scot threw her a look, but it was lighter than usual. He still hadn't completely warmed to her, and she hadn't been around the club as often over the past few weeks, but he had noticed Tig smiling more often around the workplace. He hadn't seen his brother this happy in a long time, and despite not being a big advocate for relationships – especially not since the breakdown of his own marriage and all the bullshit surrounding that – he knew a good thing when he saw it. He was happy for Tig, but he wasn't sure he trusted her to not break the man's heart. Hell, he wasn't sure he trusted her with much of anything.

"And why would I want ta do tha', _Alice_?" he asked her, his accent growing thicker with each emptied bottle. He had taken to calling her by her real name ever since overhearing it at Abel's homecoming, as if in some attempt to point out his knowledge of her true identity.

"Because I'm a great conversationalist," she replied, and he made a doubtful face, making her laugh. He watched as she pulled a drag of her cigar, then glanced over at Juice, who was looking around the room with his usual cheerful smile. He was pleased to have noticed a distinct decrease in the hostility between the boy and their Sergeant-at-Arms, but wasn't sure whether to attribute this to final acceptance from Juice, or a strong talking to from the woman caught between them. Though knowing Tig, and having heard some of the more sordid details of her tryst with Happy, he wouldn't be surprised if the three of them had settled things in a very different kind of way. He straightened up from the counter as he caught Alice's face light up in a friendly smile as she gestured a greeting to someone. Glancing around, he spotted Jax making his way through the crowd towards Bobby, receiving a brief nod from the vice president. They watched as he smacked Bobby on the back, drawing the man's attention from his squealing meal before pulling him into a tight embrace. After a quick word, Jax left him to get back to his waiting woman, and made his way towards the others.

"Long time no see, Teller," Alice smiled, standing from her seat to accept a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Your face smells like pussy, by the way," she informed him as they parted.

"I swear that was Bobby," he replied, and they exchanged grins. He greeted his brothers in the same warm manner – minus the kiss – and turned back to Alice. "Where'd you get that?" He nodded towards the smoke.

"Gift from your pop."

He glanced around at the others as if to say 'you hearing this shit?', and they smirked. "Geez, between the invite from Gemma and now this, someone might think you're up to something."

"You caught me," she replied, pulling a face of mock-disappointment, "Just part of my greater scheme to infiltrate the Teller-Morrow family. Get in good with the folks, finally make my move on the son."

He chuckled and shook his head before glancing around, looking distracted. Taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he slid one out and popped it between his lips, swapping the pack for a lighter as he cupped his hands around the flame and lit up. Finally, his gaze fell on Clay and they exchanged brief but meaningful nods, dispelling whatever bad blood had been festering between them this time. It was a fleeting attempt at a truce they both knew wouldn't last. Heaving a tired sigh, smoke billowing from his nostrils, he felt eyes on him and realized Alice had witnessed the entire exchange. She smiled at him, though through the effort she seemed just as weary.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah." Then, taking in the dark circles, pale complexion and her less-than-lively energy, "You?"

Feeling Juice's gaze on her, she was quick to reply in the affirmative, though the smile that accompanied it failed to convince him. He exchanged a quick look with the younger biker, who already had every intention of getting to the bottom of whatever was causing her grief – though knowing her propensity for unexpected mood swings, he was sure he already knew – but was waiting for a quiet moment without the potential eavesdropper to start spreading misinformed rumors. Satisfied that this wasn't another problem he would have to take on, hoping it at least didn't involve the club, Jax checked his watch and ran a hand over his face.

"I'm gonna head off, give Ma and Tara the rest of the night off."

"You just got here," Chibs protested, "At least have a fuckin' beer, Jackie."

"Nah, I'm good, man. Need some time with my boy, anyways. Why don't you have one for me? Or better yet, give it to the prospect. He looks like he ain't gonna be standin' much longer." He nodded to Half-Sack, who slid off his stool, hanging off his sponsor with a boozy grin. Chibs tried to shrug him off, but as the lads only means of support in his current state, his grip only tightened.

"I'll catch ya later," Jax assured them, with one last departing nod. Alice watched him go, then allowed her gaze to drift around the room as the whiskey began to work its way into her system; a pleasant warmth spreading through her body as the day's tension shrank down into something more manageable. She soon forgot about the failed meeting with the client, finding her attention drawn to the nearly-naked woman currently working the stripper pole. She wasn't unattractive – a little soft in the stomach and thighs, maybe – and judging by the way she slung her leg around the smooth metal and gave a confident flick of her long, blonde hair, this wasn't the first time she'd done this.

Senses dulled, Alice leaned back once more, elbow resting on the counter top, cigar clutched between the index and middle fingers of her other hand as she took a drag and let the woman's rhythmic movements lull her into a gentle daze. It wasn't until she noticed Juice's smirking gaze from the corner of her eye that she finally looked away.

"You look like a giant lesbian right now," he deadpanned, before breaking into one of his customary goofball grins. It wasn't just the way she was eyeballing the dancer, but the way she was lounging against the bar too, cigar clutched unceremoniously between her teeth. Not that the women who generally hung around the club were exactly classy, but there something about his friends mannerisms that night that struck him as particularly funny. Then again, it might have been the booze talking. He took a long drink from his bottle, watching the cogs whir to life behind her eyes as she formulated her best comeback. She came up short.

"Yeah, you wish."

He smiled, a playful look coming over him as he considered his next question. "Have you? I mean, have you ever, you know?"

"No, Juice, I don't know. Your level of subtlety has me completely in the dark."

His grin shrunk for a moment, as if her sarcasm had flown right over his head, then he caught her expression and lit up once more. "You totally have."

"I don't eat pussy and tell."

He laughed and gave her a playful push. She smacked his hand away, then caught him by the wrist as he lifted his beer to his lips with the other hand, holding him down as she smacked the bottom of the bottle. A fountain of fizz shot up into his mouth, the force of it a flood of fire in his nose. He at least made sure to turn towards her as it sprayed out in all directions, coating her in a fine mist of alcohol. Slowly, she opened her eyes, nose scrunched under the unpleasant wet sensation and shot him a death glare, which only proved to propel him into a fit of laughter.

"Asshole," she muttered, breaking into a reluctant grin as she reached for something to clean herself up. Leaning over the bar, her back to the crowd, she had only just managed to run the napkin over her face when she felt herself lifted from her seat. Twisting in her captor's grip, she looked up to find Tig grinning down at her, his eyes a little glassy as he carried her off towards the dorms.

"Put me down, fucker!" she told him, trying for indignant but falling short. She whacked him in the shoulder as she looked back apologetically at Juice. He watched the pair with only mild disapproval, usual feelings dulled by the booze.

Tig adjusted his grip, jerking her body in an attempt to get her to settle down. "Come on, before I pass out."

"And they say romance is dead."

They somehow managed to make it into one of the dorms, Tig swaying alarmingly with each step, doing his best to balance both her weight and his. By the time he got the door open and kicked it closed behind him, he stumbled towards the bed, practically tossing Alice down onto the mattress as he fell forward, only just managing to catch himself with one hand beside her. He dropped down to his knees and ran a hand down over his face.

"Tig…"

He shook it off and grabbed her by the ankles, yanking her down to the edge of the bed before his fingers went to the button on her jeans. Growing impatient with his fumbling, she undid it for him, followed by the zipper, and then shuffled out of her lower layers of clothing. Tossing them aside, Tig paused, hand going to his head again before he glanced down at her spread legs.

"I swear to god, Tig, if you throw up on me..."

Without a reply, almost as if taking her words as a challenge, he dove forward and began the assault with his tongue. It had barely been a couple of minutes, her fingers already threaded through his curls as her hips moved up to meet each lashing, when she felt him fall back away from her.

"Oh, shit," was all he managed to say as the room began to spin. Alice pushed herself up, leaning back on her hands, and looked down at him, shaking her head. As much as she had been getting into it, and as sorry as she was at the sudden loss of sensation, one look was all it took for her to feel sorry for drunken idiot.

"Come on you big lug," she said, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him up onto the bed beside her. He pulled himself up, groaning as he rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his hand, his assortment of rings glittering gold under the cheap yellow lighting. "You gonna puke?" He shook his head then lay his other hand on her thigh, massaging it gently as if in thanks for her understanding, or perhaps in apology for failing to get her off.

"Nah, I'll be okay, doll. You can get on top if you want."

She laughed at that, but before she could even reply he was out cold. The humor of the entire situation managed to linger a little while longer, and it wasn't until she had settled in beside him, running her fingers gently through his hair, that a cold kind of dread began to drift over her. Because despite the warmth radiating from the big biker's body, she was suddenly alone in the room. And the only thing keeping her company tonight, despite the room full of raucous partygoers mere meters from where she sat, was her old friend, Insomnia.

* * *

It was four am by the time she finally worked up the courage to check her watch. No need to remind herself that yet another night was about to pass without so much as a wink slept. She was tired. A cold, terrifying kind of tired that seemed to have vacated her weary muscles and settled instead in her mind. Her ears rang with the surrounding silence, the party outside having wound down until the only things she had been able to make out were the occasional sounds of someone loudly upending the contents of their stomach in the bathroom down the hall, or those still sober enough to be fucking making their best attempts out on the clubhouse floor. Every now and then she caught movement from the corner of her eye and her gaze would flick towards it, only to find the space empty. The amount of effort it took just to adjust her gaze seemed staggering, as if her eyes had been replaced with lead weights. To remedy this, she gazed blankly at the wall across from her, absentmindedly observing all the imperfections in the plaster; small cracks and lazy paint jobs. A tightness began to form in her chest and rose up her throat like invisible fingers closing around it, only this time she wasn't enjoying the sensation. She willed the tears to come, but it seemed even they were too tired to make an appearance. So her sorrow sat heavily upon her chest, suffocating and seemingly endless. And when she found she could no longer stand it, she slipped silently from the bed – careful not to wake the sleeping giant – and pulled on her jeans before creeping out into the clubhouse.

Running her fingers back through her pale hair, she took in the scene before her; a room littered with as much trash as there were bodies. A fog of smoke, beer and sex seemed to hang in the air as she stepped further in. Not a single person stirred, and judging from the occasional puddle of puke and the compromising positions many had passed out in, the cause was pretty unanimous. But even as she eyed the scattering of empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays, Alice found a renewed sense of hope; a way to keep her mind busy as the needle of her mental meter continued to teeter on the line between 'not okay' and 'self-destruct'.

Disappearing into the kitchen, she rummaged around in the cupboards, returning moments later with a garbage bag, the black plastic trailing behind her like a rustling black shadow. And without even pausing to consider if this was maybe a little odd to be doing, she began the long, mind-numbing process of cleaning up. Dodging the puke piles as best as she could, she collected every empty bottle she could find, as well as those not-so-full ones that had been turned into makeshift ashtrays, sloshing with a chunky, nicotine soup. She grabbed a couple off the pool table by Bobby's head, wincing as they clinked together a little louder than she had intended, but with a pair of big, soft breasts for his pillow, the biker remained comfortably dead to the world.

Making her way around the stained, sagging couches, she spotted Juice passed out on one of them with the dancer from the stripper pole draped haphazardly over his chest. She smiled down at him, then noticed his near-full bottle still clutched in his hand, leaning at a dangerous angle over his half-raised shirt. She crouched quietly beside him and made an attempt to pry the beer from his fingers. Just as she nearly had it, his fingers clamped down over the glass neck once more and his eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to remember where he was, Alice's presence only managing to confuse him further, then he noticed the garbage bag and frowned up at her, piecing it together.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Al."

He caught her by the wrist as she stood up, his drunken haze breaking as she ripped herself out of his grasp. She wouldn't meet his gaze for a moment, but he knew. This was the pots and pans scattered in the kitchen as she cooked. It was the sleepless nights of obsessive studying when the finals weren't for months. It was the harried scribblings of everything she was suddenly inspired to do that she would lose interest in within the week. It was the split second between the exhilaration of riding the wave, and the terror of watching the water rush up from underneath you. This was the tail-end of the mania; the drowning man reaching for anything to keep him afloat, because he knows the moment he stops struggling, he's going to be sucked under. This was Alice treading water.

Carefully peeling the stripper off his body, he threw his legs over the side of the couch and ran a hand over his shaved Mohawk, letting the unconscious dancer slip down into the space behind him. He offered Alice his gentlest smile, one that said 'I'm not going to judge you, just talk to me'. When it quickly became clear that this was not about to be the case, he took it upon himself to break the silence.

"You don't have to do that, you know," he said, nodding towards the trash bag still clutched in her hand. "That's what we got prospects for. And it's kinda how the croweaters earn their keep, too."

"Well, I'm pretty sure if you asked Gemma, she'd lump me in with that crowd."

Juice gazed up at her, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to figure out if she was attempting to make a joke, or if she had already began that self-destructive dive into one of her low episodes. Ignoring her friend's protests, she turned to the coffee table in front of him and began emptying the ashtrays.

"What's going on, Al?"

"Just helping out."

Juice stared at her. She couldn't seriously think that after all these years he wouldn't recognize one of her downward spirals.

"Hey!" He said it with a little more force than necessary, his voice coming out low but commanding, finally managing to capture her attention. When she turned back he could see the defeat in her face.

"Just let it go, man."

"When's the last time you slept?"

Her head fell back as she gave a heavy sigh, but he could tell she was at least considering her reply. "I donno. Monday, maybe?"

"Holy shit, Al."

"It's been worse."

"That's four days!"

"Your point?"

"You need to sleep."

"No fucking shit, Sherlock!" she snapped at him, tired frustration finally culminating in misdirected anger. He stared at her a moment, brow furrowed, but he reminded himself that this wasn't her; this was the disorder talking. He watched as she tossed the bag aside, the weighty contents not allowing much in the way of distance. She kept her gaze trained to the floor as one hands went to her hip and the other to her forehead, but he could tell just from the way her lips were scrunched that she was fighting back an emotional deluge. Her chest began to rise and fall more heavily until finally she let out a slow, steady breath through pursed lips. She felt a warm hand slip into her own and she managed a small smile as he gave her a squeeze.

"Want me to get you something? I'm pretty sure Tig's still got those tranquilizers around somewhere. Hey, just a suggestion," he said, throwing up his hands defensively as she shot him a look. "I know you won't take Valium. I might have something…" He got to his feet, heading for his dorm as Alice groaned.

"It's fine. I'll be fine."

Now it was his turn to shoot her a look. "You look like shit and you feel like shit. Let me help."

She rolled her eyes but he could see some of her resolve melting away at the selfless gesture. To be fair, he wasn't feeling so hot himself – the mix of opiates and alcohol churning away, his stomach's review of the concoction advising imminent evacuation – but that was an easy solve. A quick thrust of fingers in the throat and he would be just peachy. Alice's situation wasn't such an easy fix, but knowing the hell she would likely be enduring in the coming days, he could at least help see her through it.

"Fine," she finally gave in, following him towards the dorms, "But if I end up in front of the cop station dressed in a goddamn diaper, you're gonna get your ass beat."


End file.
